


Opening Doors

by natashawitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Denial, Destiel - Freeform, Fallen Castiel, First Time, From Pre-slash to slash, Frottage, M/M, Reference to non-con, Sad Dean, Sexual acts in the bunker, Slow Build, Someone cheers Dean up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:16:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 49,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natashawitch/pseuds/natashawitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After 8.19 Taxi Driver, sometimes Dean needs to get out of the batcave for an evening, leaving Sam with his precious tomes. One night Dean meets Paul, an all round good guy, who just might like to take Dean home with him. Meeting Paul opens Dean's eyes to his own desires, and may open doors to a brighter future.</p><p>Then Castiel turned up and some things are just meant to be.</p><p>Minor spoilers for Skyfall.</p><p>Spoilers for Season 8, including finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Geary's Bar Concordia

**Author's Note:**

> No beta. All mistakes my own.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not my characters. No copyright infringement intended.

.  
Coming to Concordia to drink scotch in an old guys’ barely furnished bar, was not one of Dean Winchester’s most thought out journeys.

Having sampled, returned, and not wanted to be a regular at most of the establishments in Lebanon, he had driven the hour east, soothed by Robert Plant and Jimmy Page.

There was only so much of Sam’s hacking cough that a concerned older brother could take, without snapping. Offered boiled water with honey had been rebuffed. Then Sam had “freaking ruined” in his own words a medieval text by spluttering lung-blood or some shit, all over some long dead monk’s distinctly untalented rendering of some other long dead saint. In Dean’s humble opinion Sam’s blood spatter was an improvement. The bitch-face had been underserved in Dean’s continuing humble opinion.

Some nights he just had to get out. He wasn’t even consuming like he used to. A couple of well nursed scotches and one bottle of Miller or Bud, depending on his mood. 

Then back home. Something warm, not the liquor, rubbed the inside of his stomach. Back home to his room, their frigging awesome kitchen, Sammy’s library and their bunker.

Dean might just have hummed aloud in contentment.

“Hey dude, you want a game?”

Dean looked up at a retired line backer, or maybe a bricklayer, or a weights trainer. The guy was six foot and plenty of change, broad shouldered, black hair with soft bangs but he could wear it. He had worn denims, Dr Sexy style cowboy boots, and a warm brushed flannel shirt in a pale well washed grey. 

Grey eyes, to match his flannel, sparked at Dean, “You wanna be left with your drink? Just you an’ I are the only ones in this dive under forty, thought you might like one rack of pool?”

Funds were good. Hustling this friendly guy wasn’t a prospect that suited his melancholy. Dean gifted buff-guy with a smile, “Not tonight amigo.”

Buff guy walked off. His ass was tightly packed into those ancient denims. He deposited his cue against the far wall and moved to the bar. 

Dean watched him take two bottles of Heineken, and raised his eyebrows as Mr Buff-Dude Concordia walked back towards him.  
“A beer, then. For your troubles.”

“Dean Winchester.” Dean extended his hand.

It was crushed in a vice like shake, “Paul Kerry.”

Dean pushed the half empty scotch aside with the back of his hand, intending to use it as a whisky chaser. 

“So Dean? What you do for a living?” Paul asked casual-like, leaning back on the hard wooden chair, which passed for comfort in the run down bar.

“I freelance. Troubleshoot. Travel a lot.” Dean rolled off his pat response.

“Sounds unstable.”

Dean laughed, “That’s new... I’ve had people call it, free, independent, lonely, even dangerous, but you win a prize for originality.”

They clinked bottle necks. Dean continued, “I’ve a place over in Lebanon with my brother, so we are not as unstable these times, but travel is part of our gig. What about you Paul?”

“Fire-fighter.”

Dean was impressed. He didn’t care if it showed, but it must have because Paul threw his head back and laughed, “You look like my seven year old nephew when I took him down to the station to meet the guys.”

“Sorry.” Dean mumbled and tried to look impassive.

“No, it’s cool. Kind of sweet. Before that I was in construction for a few years, and I did a tour in Iraq, before we got Sadaam. You served?”

“No man. Never worked out that way. Are you from here?” Dean asked, genuinely interested in this guy’s story, and able to squirrel away his Sammy and Cas worries for a while.

“Not far, couple of towns over. Got back from Iraq, messed up, man, you have no idea, I couldn’t leave the desert behind. Was like I had returned to an alien planet. Then I met Leslie and well....”

Dean grinned, “True love and all that... “

“Yeah,” Paul agreed but there was no smile.

“You and Lesley, you still got it going on?” Dean asked unsure now that he was going to get a positive answer.

“One year getting to know each other and pulling me back into civilian life, one year deciding we wanted each other, years here living together in Concordia, putting down roots, and then he left me. Needed to find himself.” Paul stared at the pool table, and didn’t see how Dean’s eyes had widened when Lesley turned out to be Leslie.

“That’s tough man.” 

“It is. It still is. If he came home in the morning I would take him in. Some sap I am.” Paul’s weak smile tugged at something in Dean’s psyche.

“Love. It is a fugly beast.” Dean pronounced and lifted his bottle for another toast.

Paul met him in mid air, “To fugly love.”

They took a swig each.

“You live with your brother then?” Paul asked, no mistaking the tentative come on.

“Mmm-huh.” Dean nodded, “Just me and him rattling around our big ole space. Crap, that wasn’t meant to sound maudlin. I have a friend, a good friend, who is off finding himself or some messed up shit.”

“I hear ya.” Paul pressed his giant hand down over Dean’s and then patted it once. “You wanna another?”

It was getting late. Two scotches and a beer was Dean’s self imposed still-able-to-drive-Baby-limit.

“Naw man. I’m good. I’m gonna havta skip.” He stood and retrieved his green jacket from the back of the chair.

“Yeah? Well see you around, Dean. I’m here most off nights. It is a good place for a quiet drink.”

Dean nodded. If he turned a waved from the door, and if Paul waved back enthusiastically, then that wasn’t weird.

 

Six nights away on a Garth initiated wild-goose chase for Kevin, in rural Oklahoma, brought Dean home weary and with a short fuse. Not willing to risk losing it and arguing with his ill brother, or to endanger their re-found brotherly connection, Dean snagged Baby’s keys from the long table in the library and announced he was going out. Sam teased him with a “Don’t be late home, bitch.”

Pulling up in the lot outside Geary’s Bar, Dean wondered if he would rather have some peace, or if he would be glad to see the buff friendly fireman again.

Paul was sinking the black in a game against a guy who could have fought in the Korean War. He had the same denims and boots as the previous week, but his chest was barely restrained inside a black Henley. He looked up and met Dean’s eyes. Excusing himself and laying the cue on the felt, he came directly over to Dean. “Nice to see you back.”

“Hey Paul. Off tonight?” Dean said lamely, caught out with the sudden appearance of his new bud.

“Not just off, not on call roster either. I am a free man, Mr Winchester.” Paul winked.

Dean swallowed hard then played along, “Well Mr Kerry, I am home from a job. A bust out and in need of some distraction. What does a single man do on a Tuesday in Concordia?”

Paul laughed loud, causing a table of old guys to glance their way. When they saw it was the fire-fighter they just rolled their eyes and got back to their card game.

“Jerk off.” Paul intoned low.

“Ex-el-sque-z-me.” Dean asked.

“Tuesday night entertainment. I offer a functioning X-box, Netflix, and or a game of scrabble. Jerking off to scrabble is optional.”

Dean chuckled. “Jeez guy, you are priceless. You wouldn’t be trying to lure me back to your lair to go all Dexter Morgan on me.”

“Shucks, Dean. My lair? I don’t live in a batcave.”

Dean gave a dry chortle, “Good cos that's my digs. Come on, where do you live?”

Paul gave him an assessing gaze at his comment but shrugged it off, “Over the road, not far, five minutes’ walk. You coming pal?”

Dean shrugged but followed the guy out the door.

Paul’s apartment was a pack rat’s natural habitat. He either hoarded for America, or he didn’t believe in storage. With no sign of shame, the large fire-fighter picked up a stack of DIY manuals from his sofa and dumped them on the floor, so that Dean could sit.

“Leslie was the tidy one.” Was the only comment on the mess.

While the place was full of crap, it was clean. The sofa had clean covers and the tiled floors were grime free. Paul had the most goddamned awful mustard walls in his living area, reminiscent of the scumiest low budget motel.

Once Dean had evaluated his surroundings, Paul offered X-box or movie, pizza or curry, beer or Irish whiskey, and chips or pretzels.

Skyfall, pizza, beer and Pringles. 

Dean did not get half hard during the shaving scene. Paul didn’t move closer during the Scottish scenes. Dean did not moan his appreciation of the explosions or cry in empathy over a car.

Beer and tomato sauce, BBQ Pringles, and a burn of stubble. Credits on the screen and a dude’s tongue in his mouth. It felt good, warm, comfortable. Paul’s hand spanned Dean’s shoulder blade as he pulled him closer. Dean pressed deeper, taking control of the kiss. When they pulled apart, Paul cupped his cheek with his hand and pressed his large thumb along Dean’s own stubbled jaw.

“Mmm, good?” Paul asked.

“Mmm-uh,” Dean affirmed. He lay back and closed his eyes. Paul moved his hand over Dean’s crotch and pressed down.

“Testing, testing, one, two, three.” 

“Freak.” Dean muttered.

“Test has confirmed positive for response.” Paul laughed softly, as Dean’s cock strained under the attention.

Dean pushed Paul’s hands away, and a fleeting slant of rejection tainted the big man’s features. But Dean was unzipping his fly and letting little Dean out for air. 

He was going with the flow here. Rudderless, but allowing this, taking it, letting Paul give him what he wanted, what perhaps they both needed.

Paul got with the program quick smart. He ran his thumbnail across Dean’s slit, eliciting a grateful moan. Sliding closer, almost straddling Dean, he slid down his own trousers and lined up their well matched cocks.

One large hand, two hard guys, one expert, one novice.

Paul jerked them hard, rapid, brutal, freaking awesome, Tightening, coming together. Paul growled “Dean!” 

Dean bit his lip, but drew the sagging grey eyed man down for another kiss of pressed top lip against top teeth, then seeking entry and more teeth and tongue and no breath until burning lungs and opening eyes enforced their parting.

Paul collapsed beside Dean on the sofa. “Handsome and hot, you got the full package, Dean-man.”

“You have quite the package yourself, fire-fighter.” Dean complemented back.

“Beats, beating in the shower.”

“Sure does, Paul.” Dean eased himself up and tucked his dick back in his pants. He could do with a shower put didn’t want to push things.

“So, your guy?” Paul pushed his body out from the seat, using an elbow to brace himself against the sofa back, “you waiting on him coming home?”

Dean looked up at the ceiling, not seeing Paul’s flaky plaster-work. He nodded. “Sorry.”

“No big, dude. Hey, one round of frottage does not a marriage make.” Paul joked.

“An awesome round,” Dean grinned.

“When he comes back...” Paul began.

“Cas. His name is Cas. And yeah, when he comes back, I’ll let him in.” Dean replied.

“No, man, I was going to ask, when Cas comes back, you gonna tell him about us?”

Dean shrugged, but he wondered if he could, if he should, use Paul to open the door, see if Cas wanted to step through.

“I’ll tell Leslie. I’ll tell him one night in Geary’s divebar, I found a sex-god, and I took him home, got him hard for Daniel Craig, fed him chips, got him off, tasted his mouth, and prepped him for the return of his own angel.”

Dean jolted a fraction, but saw the lost look on Paul’s face. “You tell that Leslie when he lands his sorry ass back here that I’ll boot him back to soul-searching camp if he pulls another stunt on you.”

Paul grinned and clapped an arm around Dean’s shoulder, “Vice versa, man, I pack a mean right hook. That Cas better show his face.”

Dean nodded.

The silence got strained and Dean made his excuses. 

Paul left the door open. “Pool table Geary’s bar, anytime handsome.”

 

Sam was still up, pouring over some other ridiculously old volume. He took one look at Dean. “You scored?”

Dean grinned and winked.

“You bother with a name?”

“Hey, Sammy, you wound me. Paula.” Dean quirked his own secret smile as he turned his back on his little brother, heading for the kitchen to make them a midnight snack.

“Paula?” Sam shouted after him, shaking his head. Once Dean was gone he mused, “She must have had some beard on her for that skin burn. Denial, river of Egypt, meet Dean.” 

He listened for a moment ensuring Dean was in fact in the kitchen.

“Castiel. I offer you this prayer, FYI, Dean’s gotten man-love, if you don’t get your angelic ass back here, you’ll lose out on all his firsts. Come on Cas, move your butt,” Sam coughed, “Amen.”


	2. Fly on the wall

Castiel lifted the lapel of his trench coat to his nose. He could smell the Greyhound Bus and the inside of the trucker’s cab, such painfully slow ways to travel to this isolated place, the geographical center of the contiguous United States. Trusting in Garth, he chided himself with his old regret that he had not modified the sigils on the Winchesters’ ribs so that he could seek them out. Not that celestial location would be an ability he could draw on for much longer. He looked over his shoulder expecting to see evidence of his leaking grace, like the breadcrumbs in a story called Hansel and Gretel that Jimmy used to read to little Claire.

He raised his fist and pounded on the bunker doors. He waited. Castiel was well versed in waiting. An inordinate amount of his existence had been spent waiting, pregnant with anticipation for his next orders, expectant of divine revelation, observant of sub-atom changes in the universe. A fluttering trembled in his gut, an unpleasant quiver of suspense. Finally the heavy door was dragged inwards revealing Sam Winchester’s face breaking into a wide dimpled smile.

“Castiel!”

“Hello Sam.” Castiel tried to crane his neck to see behind Sam, who was looking different. He was paler than the last time Castiel had seen him and he had ink stained fingers and a wool sweater worn over his plaid shirt.

“Is it really you, man? How come you didn’t mojo inside? Is there angel-proofing that we can’t see?” Sam examined the blank surface of the door and the floor of the threshold.

“This place does not exclude the host. Some of my brethren were summoned here in the past.” Castiel tried not to think of the state of Balthazar’s wings after the Men of Letters had required a supply of angelic feathers. He avoided the question about his ‘mojo’ and asked, “Where is Dean?”

Sam coughed, not in a manner indicative of his damage, but in an awkward human fashion. “He is out. Concordia, I figure.”

“Concordia? Is there a case so close to your new residence?”

Sam jerked his head in a negative, “It was like pulling teeth.” He looked from the doorway up at the evening sky, “It is going to rain, won’t you come in Cas?” He used both hands to pull the door fully back, “Did you hear my prayers?”

Castiel looked down at his shoes. They needed to be polished by hand now. “No Sam. I have been cut off from what you call Angel Radio.”

“Because of The Angel Tablet?” Sam made a sweeping motion with his arm for Castiel to enter.

“No. I do not believe so. I exercised free will and this is the consequence. When will Dean return from the dentist?”

Sam laughed, a warm sound coming from his belly. “No Cas. Dean is not getting a tooth pulled. Dude, we missed you. Dean is probably at Geary’s Bar.”

“I will go to him.” Castiel announced and forced his wings to spread out on the celestial plane.

“Wait!” Sam cried, but Castiel had already vamoosed.

 

The rain cloud had already burst over Concordia and heavy drops plummeted to the ground of the parking lot. Castiel’s legs gave out when he manifested. His grace level hit a new low as he arrested his fall with his hands spread flat on the hood of the Impala.

Dean was close by.

Straightening up and closing his eyes to center himself, Castiel pushed his shoulders back retracting his wings. He had to be strong for Dean, not reveal too soon the broken fragile state of his grace and his body. He was unsure of his reception. He remembered every word Dean had spoken to him in Lucifer’s crypt. He needed Dean as much in return, but he was certain that the version of The Angel Castiel that now existed was not the one that Dean required. This falling weakened being might repulse the hunter, or perhaps Dean’s bright compassion would pity Castiel. The angel didn’t know which would be worse and he almost turned around and departed. He needed to see Dean, but at that instant in time he felt every missing drop of his grace, so he wrapped his wings around tight and hid from human eyes. He ignored the prick of guilt. Spying again, Dean might think. Castiel bit his lip too hard and a bead of blood rose on the soft inner skin.

Dean was at the pool table. He looked good. He had his soft brown toned plaid shirt over his worn olive green tee. He was wearing the denims with a rip at the knee. Castiel never knew if the rip was intentional or damage from a hunt that Dean had not taken the time to repair. Focusing his admiration closer he noticed Dean looked a little tired maybe, dark circles marring his unique eyes. Castiel presumed they were due to Dean’s worries about his brother and regretted that there was no way for him to heal Sam’s damage. He leaned against a cold paint-flaking pillar to watch Dean apply his hustle.

The mark was a tall well built man with the aura of a gentle giant. This was a good man and Castiel’s mouth twitched in mild disapproval of the lengths Dean and Sam had to take to survive in the world, but he did not interfere. He was content to observe until Dean claimed his winnings, and then he would appear, too close, perhaps behind his friend, perhaps in the seat next to him and greet Dean. Dean would startle (adorably), perhaps cuss him out and tell him that he still had no concept of personal space. A smile broke over Castiel’s hidden face at the imagined event. 

Attention back on the game, Dean had missed a shot. He threw his head back laughing at his error. Castiel’s eyebrows rose. This was not typical of the hustle. The other player came round to Dean’s side of the table to analyze the position of the colors. Dean moved closer to him. Castiel watched Dean intensely, wondering if he was going to pickpocket the guy’s wallet, but Dean did not make the well oiled movement, instead he leaned in closer, so close that the right side of Dean’s body was pressed into the left side of the other man. They did not pull apart, rather the black haired man put his cue against the table and slung an arm over Dean’s shoulder, then bent his head to blow air into Dean’s hair and whisper something in his ear. Castiel watched a blush rise up Dean’s neck and flush his cheeks. Still Dean continued to lean into the other man. 

Tears pricked Castiel’s eyes. He didn’t know why. His mind swam in confusion at his sudden emotional reaction to the scene. He extended his wings and moved to the interior of the bunker. This time he could not stop his knees from giving way and he face planted onto the floor, coat flaring around him.

“Cas! Castiel. You have got to be kidding? What the fuck?” Sam rounded the long reading table and dropped down beside the angel. There was blood dripping from a cut above his eyebrow. Sam pulled one of his supply of Men of Letters monogrammed linen handkerchiefs from his jeans pocket and patted the blood away. “Cas, man, what is wrong with you?”

Castiel pulled himself up so that he was kneeling back on his haunches next to Sam. His eyes drank in the library. “My grace. It is draining away.”

“Awh, man, that sucks.”

“It does suck.” Castiel stood slowly easing aching muscles.

“Did you find Dean?”

“He was otherwise engaged.”

“Ah-ha, he was with ‘Paula’, I guess.” Sam put finger quotes around ‘Paula’.

“I do not understand your….” Castiel copied Sam’s finger quotes, “Dean was in the presence of a large Irish-American giant, who he was permitting to remain inside his personal space.”

“Taller than me?” Sam asked the most important question.

“I believe so, Sam.”

“What about his hands and feet, were they big?”

“I am not completely ignorant Sam,” Castiel looked horrified, “I did not ascertain the size of the man’s hands. I have a foreign urge to apply cruel epithets to Dean’s new friend.”

Sam chuckled. “I believe you are jealous.”

Castiel examined his reactions for evidence of envy. He had been surprised, unprepared, to see Dean in an intimate stance with another man. He had seen him stand shoulder to shoulder with Benny but that was in another world. He had seen him in countless positions with women over the years. However tonight he had wished himself into the place of the giant man, into the position of having Dean lean into his side. Yet he did not wish ill on the other man.

“No Sam. I am not jealous. I am tired,” and mentally added that he was unworthy of possessing an entitlement to Dean’s affections.

“Would you like some tea?” Sam asked, “Maybe with your depleted batteries, you know, I have a warm pot of green matcha with honey and lemon. I find it eases the pipes.”

Castiel nodded and pulled a chair out to sit at a part of the table not covered in open books.

Sam returned from the kitchen with a cup and saucer. The cup had a 1950s rendition of a kitten on it that he thought might amuse Castiel. He approached realizing the angel had made a pillow of his folded arms and was asleep at the table.

“That’s not a good sign.” Sam sighed and putting the cup down at his own place, he ran a hand through his hair. He took a sip of the tea and returned to his treatise on the nature of solitary vampires. He tried to keep the volume of his racking cough down. Gregory of Antioch’s text began to describe a nest of starving vamps that had been ganked by the heroic Ethelbert the Saxon. It sounded better in Latin. The door slammed. He checked Castiel but the angel had not made a sign of reaction. 

His brother’s merry voice called, “Samantha, I’m home.”


	3. Samantha I'm Home

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Samantha I’m home.”

Sam couldn’t let Dean stumble into the library to see Castiel slumped over the table. He pushed back his chair and moved with long loping steps to intercept his brother in the entry way. 

Dean was grinning like a Cheshire Cat. He held up a single bottle of Heineken for Sam. “Brought you a gift, bitch.”

“Heineken? Seriously Dean, since when do you drink that European crap?”

“Awh, Sammy Sam, ‘S not bad. ‘S nice with chips.” 

Sam squinted his eyes trying to analyze how that statement corresponded to the tell tale sign of embarrassment on his brother’s face.

“I’m not drunk. I can see your Dean-is-drunk bitchface brewing. I had two of these.” Dean passed the bottle over to Sam.

“All night?” Sam chuffed in disbelief. “You sex drunk then?”

“No, I didn’t put out. I played pool. Won $20 from a septuagenarian and donated it to the Firefighters Charitable Foundation. Well I didn’t donate it, my playing partner sort of decided we were giving it away. Won it fair and square though, Bro.”

“I’m sure you did.” Sam started walking backwards in front of Dean, “before you go in there I need to tell you…”

“What Sammy? No chick flick stuff tonight. I’m in a good mood.” Dean sighed deeply.

“Wait!” Sam got a sense of déjà vu as Dean ignored his effort to halt him and walked around his body.

There was no one at the table.

“Sam?” Dean laughed “Why are you drinking tea from two cups?”

Sam looked at his cup from earlier in the evening and the kitten cup sitting amongst his papers. “I was… ahem distracted.” He craned his neck around looking for Castiel.

Dean flopped down on the very chair that the angel had vacated. “Drink your beer. Tea? Honestly Sam, why don’t you just, I don’t know, move to England and live in a library.”

“Dean” Sam huffed at his brother’s lame joke, “We do live in a library. Tell me about your night.”

“Just did dude. Seriously? I had a few games of pool. Drank beer.”

“Heineken?”

“Yeah. Told you. Is there a law against it?”

“I might come with you, the next night. I could use a break, and you keep going back there, must be a decent joint.” Sam dipped his toe in the water wondering what Dean’s reaction would be.

“Yeah yeah cool stuff. We could go out to Lebanon tomorrow night. Yeah?”

“Yeah Dean. Fine.” Sam uncapped his gift and took a swig of the warm lager, stewing at denial and deception from a downright stubborn brother.

“I’m going to hit the memory foam.” Dean eased himself up and cracked his spine.

“I’m gonna finish this text then I’ll head.” Sam muttered in response, his attention already re-focusing on Ethelbert the Saxon.

“Make sure you do Sammy. You need to sleep.” Dean’s voice softened and Sam could practically hear the unspoken words of concern and misplaced guilt.

“Says mister four hours a night.” Sam ribbed back gently. 

“I‘m right and you know it.” Dean teased going out through the kitchen.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Castiel watched from his place on the floor. He had thrown his wings over his body when he heard Dean returning. He thought Sam might be disappointed that he had vanished, but he didn’t have enough residual grace to truly travel away just yet. When Dean left the room, Castiel was drawn to follow him like a magnet. 

He stood apart while Dean snagged a slice of provolone from the industrial size refrigerator. 

He lingered outside the bathroom as Dean washed his face and brushed his teeth.

Finally he stood on the threshold as Dean entered his bedroom. Castiel regretted seeing this room while hiding from his friend. He would have liked to have been shown it by Dean. His eyes took in the weapons carefully mounted on the wall, the beautiful craftsman made gramophone, the collection of plastic wrapped vinyl, and the photograph of Mary Winchester. The room seemed unfinished and he wondered about Dean’s final vision for this his own space. 

Dean’s good mood had evaporated. He was sitting on the side of the bed with his head in his hands.

Castiel almost made to become visible. He reached a hand out to comfort.

“Cas.”

The angel jumped. How could Dean know he was there? Was his grace so weak that even his wings would not hide him now?

“Cas, where are you man?”

Dean was praying. Castiel could not hear the celestial frequency of the prayer, but he heard Dean’s pained words.

“Come home. Please come home to me. I need you so freaking much. Don’t feel bad about what happened in the crypt. I’d like you to bring the freaking tablet with you. You don’t need to protect it from me. Scratch that, Cas. I didn’t mean for it to sound like I only want you for some frigging angel blog. Listen it wasn’t you laying into me. It wasn’t. I’ve met that Theodora, Naomi. She is a piece of work. I’d like to turn her skin green.”

Castiel’s shoulder rose and stiffened in tension. Naomi had found the Winchesters. She could kill Dean.

“Cas. Just come home. We will face her together. I’ll be there for you. We took down Dick. I know we landed in Purgatory but we did it. Hey we took down the apocalypse. One angel with a stick up her ass versus a holy tax accountant, a sick moose and a broken down hunter, hey? She hasn’t a hope. That was a joke by the way.”

Dean stood up and pulled his shirt off. He kicked off his boots and was using his big toe of one foot to pin down the sock on his other and ease that foot out. Castiel made to move away, to give him privacy.

“Benny is gone.” Dean scrubbed a hand over his face.

Castiel frowned. He wondered what the story was. Castiel had been wary of the vampire, but Dean had bonded with their ally in a way that had astonished the angel. The way Dean had said 'gone', it sounded heartbreakingly permanent.

Dean unzipped his fly. Castiel took a step into the hall and began to think about where he was going to go. He heard Dean’s voice from inside the room. 

“Paul told me that I should say I love you, if I see you again. He said that he regrets trying to be a strong manly guy and not saying it enough to Leslie. He says that we deserve to say it to each other. I do, man. I do Cas. Come back, please, come home.”

Castiel hunched over and felt the words like a punch to his core. What use could he be to Dean now? Holy Father, he loved Dean back, but he couldn’t risk Naomi’s wrath falling on his friends, and couldn’t impose his weakened state on Dean. He grasped tight onto the nub of grace and with supreme effort moved himself to the verge of the west bound lane of Interstate-70.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theodora = wicked witch of the west, for Castiel and others who haven't seen the movie.
> 
> My posting schedule is much slower than for my other fics, apologies, but that is because this really is a WIP rather than an editing jobbie. 
> 
> I want to watch 8.20 before I post the next chapter, as I am planning to try and keep this from getting too canon divergent, at least during the initial chapters. 
> 
> Comments and kudos exceedingly welcome.


	4. The Job

1:00am Friday.  
Castiel grabbed hold of the spare mop and helped Dieter, the bus boy and general dogs’ body, wash down the stone flagged area in front of the main bar and across the wood of the dance floor.

Officially Castiel’s shift was over. However he found a simple pleasure in these final actions before the manageress kicked him and Dieter out, and locked up The Grapevine for the night.

Three weeks ago the angel had wandered into the dance club seeking to drown his aching muscles and heart in hard liquor. Tessie took one look at his suit and coat combo and had assumed that he had come to be interviewed for the cloakroom job. Remembering to keep his cover as not-an-angel-of-the-lord, he protested that he had no social security number. She had stuck her hip out, planted a hand on it, and laughed long, “You think you are the first alien I’ve had working off the books? Cash-in-hand, no benefits, cops or likely suits and you go out the fire exit at the back of the cloakroom. Capisce?”

Wide-eyed Castiel nodded, discovering that action indicated he had accepted the job. Stumbling block one of many was his name. He didn’t have one. Rejecting Novak as disrespectful to Jimmy’s surviving family, Castiel sucked in air and stuck a hand out, “Castiel Lawrence.”

“Theresa Blair. Manager and pain in your butt. Be here at eight sharp tomorrow. Shift until closing Thursday to Sunday. Minimum wage. Tips are your own. Wear your tie.”

Dieter clapped a hand on his shoulder and bade him goodnight before heading home to his student digs. Castiel turned the opposite direction and began walking.

He spent the hours of darkness winding his way through the central business district. He made his way out through streets that gave way to wide boulevards of stores accepting early morning deliveries and garbage collectors. Finally as dawn broke he found himself in a community that was new to him. Careful in choosing, he picked an empty house. If it was a rainy morning he would try and pry open a window. On a dry day he would pick a spot on a back porch. He preferred a large yard with grass lawn and high private fencing. Today the wide lawn ended in a summerhouse. A simple deadbolt released letting Castiel find a deckchair and a picnic blanket amongst the gardening items.

A scant three hours of necessary sleep brought Castiel to a sunbright windy morning. He had not truly had human sleep, letting a lingering tendril of his grace make him aware of any returning homeowners or unexpected gardeners. Stretching his limbs and smoothing the wrinkles from his clothes, he headed back towards the commercial center. He dug into his jacket pocket pulling out the billfold of his wages. He peeled off a twenty and put it in his coat pocket. The first food emporium he encountered on this day’s route was a Biggersons. Castiel cleared his throat at the counter, speaking for the first time since Dieter and he parted ways. Two burgers and a vanilla shake refueled Castiel for the next twenty four hours. The florescent lit restroom revealed stubble darker than Tessie Blair would approve. He shrugged his shoulders and began the walk to the showers of the YMCA.

Crossing the intersection by the theatre, he inadvertently ran his hand along the bonnet of a black Chevy impala stopped at the lights. The driver was a grey haired businessman. Castiel stumbled to the kerb. His mind filled with images of grey-haired Dean and his white-haired self sitting on a cabin stoop sharing a beer. He caught a lamppost to steady his body and mind. There were too many possible futures, far too many of which ended in unbearable tragedy. He blanked his thoughts. Another concentrated effort allowed him to feel his burden; The Angel Tablet. It was safe in its secret covert.

Two blocks closer to his shave and shower there was an old graveyard surrounded by high wrought iron fencing and a refuge for feral cats. Castiel had rested here before. He pushed open the creaking gate and made his way to the central dried up fountain. The noon high sun beat down tipping the long grasses to the brown end of the spectrum. Once he had stolen a few moments of solitude he would continue on his way, ending finally at The Grapevine. On his nights off he walked a varying circuitous route which brought him to the Kino Royale, where he schooled himself on classic cinema and new foreign language releases. A tabby with a kink in her tail chased two marmalade kittens around a subsiding tomb. Exasperated, she yowled at her charges. The plea translated in Castiel’s knowledge as ‘Children, too hot, come home.”

“Come home.”

“Come home, Cas, I need you.”

The words echoed and looped.

“Not like this Dean.” Castiel whispered into the warm breeze.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Paul sighed as he pulled his white vest top over his damp hair. He was the last in the locker room. Tugging his jeans over his barely dry legs he could hear Leslie laughing at him, telling him that he marveled how a guy patient enough to sit in a fire station for hours on end waiting for a call, couldn’t dry himself off after showering or tolerate the time it took to tidy away his crap. His guts twisted seeing Leslie’s bright blue eyes and cheeky grin in his mind. 

“Fuck you, you Dear-John-leaving bastard.” Paul snatched his Nikes from the wooden bench and bent over to put them on.

“Are you not over that crap ex of yours?” 

Paul spun around inelegantly flopping his large body against the wall of lockers. It was Gillian, the only woman on the team, wiry and red haired with the feistiness that came with her coloring.

“Shit, Gill, I thought I was locking up.” 

“You are Big Boy. I forgot my kindle. The kids’ bedtime story is on it. Not worth living if I arrive back without it.” Gillian grinned. “So what made you think of the sack of crap?”

“Gill, please. You know we’re not officially over. He has gone to...”

“I know ‘find himself’. Bullshit new-age hippy crap. If he wanted religion you could have brought him down to St Michael and All Angels. I told you Father Moran has a radically modern view of Lesbian Gay issues.”

“Gillian.” Paul rolled his eyes at the consistent efforts of his colleague to bring him back into the fold. He had made the mistake of confessing to being an altar boy in his youth, and Gillian had pounced on him ever since.

“Just saying. What you doing tonight?” Gillian retrieved her kindle from her locker and was turning away to head home.

“Thought I might go to Geary’s. See if there is anyone who fancies a game of pool.” Paul mentally added, see if Dean is back and wants to avoid playing pool by going back to my place.

“Geary’s? Honestly I despair. I thought you gay boys had better taste. See ya later Loser.” Gillian winked at him and did an L sign with her fingers on her forehead.

“You are such a child, Gillian!” Paul called after her, laughing to himself.

Watch back on, sweater over tee and backpack of essentials all in place, Paul made a final check of the station. He set the alarm on his way out, cursing modern day vandalism that meant even a fire station had to have a burglar alarm. 

Huffing a sigh he turned to face the setting sun and saw the Impala parked across the street. A smile broke out on his face. Dean was there with the rays of sun lighting his body in a halo and obscuring his face to Paul’s eyes. He raised a hand to wave. Dean waved back. Something warm settled in Paul’s belly. He hefted his bag over his shoulder and dodged an aging Ford Taurus to dash across the road.

“Dean! You’re back, man, and a sight for sore eyes.” Paul caught the other man in a one armed hug around the brown leather of his jacket. He could feel Dean stiffen before relaxing to clap Paul on the back. 

“Hey.” Dean said sort of shy, and Paul melted all over again.

“Hey yourself. How did the job go?” Paul dumped his bag on the dusty ground and turned to face Dean. The angle of light was different here and Paul could see every beautiful feature of his friend’s face. He hadn’t told Dean he was beautiful. He wanted to, but there was something skittish, new, and fragile about their thing and Dean’s slow acceptance of his sexuality. Paul couldn’t risk it, not for his own pain if he was rejected, but for Dean’s heart.

He knew Dean had deep seated issues, maybe even deeply hidden heartbreaks, but the man was the silent type. Not that they didn’t talk, chat, laugh. Dean had the most outrageous stories, but there was a barbed wire fence that was protecting Dean’s core. Paul thought sometimes when they touched fingers across a sticky Geary’s table, or lay spent after a mutual hand job on Paul’s sofa, that Dean was letting him in, just a fraction. It was enough. Paul was not one to push, he had been burned too badly in his own life.

“X-box or Geary’s? I have to warn you that some douche has stolen the blue number two ball, so we could improvise to play one-pocket?”

Dean smiled, “Nominating pockets sounds good. If I never see a video game again it will be too soon.”

“Huh?” Paul smacked Dean on the shoulder, “What man? You have a virtual reality disaster while you were gone?”

“Man!” Dean grinned wide.

“Good hunt this time? You get your bounty?” Paul got a dreamy look on his face.

“Earth to fire officer Kerry.”

“I can just see you as Lee Majors.”

“You think I’m the bionic man?” Dean snorted, “No-one spent six million dollars on me.”

“I can’t understand why,” Paul teased back and leaned against the hot black door of the impala. “Not that show. Come on Dean. Remember The Fall Guy? Lee Majors played Colt the bounty hunter. The cool truck. Jody in her daisy dukes shorts.”

“You noticed the girl?”

“Hey I was in elementary school. I noticed Lee Majors.”

“No bounty this time. I was helping a friend. She is like a little sister to me and Sam. It worked out in the end.”

“Well you know what they say. A good deed…”

“…never goes unpunished.” Dean finished.

“No Dean.” Paul rolled his eyes. “So shines a good deed in a weary world.”

“Are you quoting Shakespeare at me?” Dean eyed him suspiciously.

“Lawks, no. Willy Wonka.”

Dean snorted a laugh, “Depp or Wilder?”

“Wilder all the way.” Paul said emphatically.

“I hear you.” Dean licked his lips and gave another amused slight snort.

“So you ready to brave Concordia’s Tex Mex takeout. Burrito Surprise?”

“Can’t. I’m sorry dude. I came to say goodbye. We have a lead on the guy we were chasing our tails around Oklahoma for. Sam and I, we are heading out tonight.” Dean looked away as if he did not want to see the disappointment in Paul’s eyes.

“Okay,” Paul tried to smile but it was a sorry effort. He had no claim on Dean’s time or on Dean really. “When will you get home?”

“Thing is. The way things are. I don’t know.” Dean pulled the impala key from his jacket pocket.

“Will I keep a bottle of Heineken on ice for you?” Paul sucked in his lip, hoping Dean was not leading in to break off their ‘thing’.

“That would be good, great.” It was Dean who pulled the firefighter in for a deep hug. Paul wasn’t letting him go without a memory and he wrapped his arms tight around Dean’s body.

“I’mma gonna open a hugging booth.” Dean chuckled into Paul’s ear.

“Did your other customers do this?” Paul kissed Dean’s temple. “Or this?” He tilted Dean’s face with his hand, touched his lips on a lower freckle, then claimed soft lips with the tip of his tongue, let Dean open up for him allowing him entry and then bringing them to where they melted into each other.

“Gotta go.” Dean whispered pulling his head back. “Sammy’s waiting.”

“You take care, Dean Winchester.” Paul swallowed hard. “I’ll be here when you get home.”

Dean nodded as he made his way around the trunk to the driver’s side. “Thanks man, awesome.”


	5. Outside the batcave preparing to leave

Dean slammed the heel of his hand into the Impala steering wheel. He rested his head on the top of the wheel. He had reversed Baby up the dirt track to the bunker and mentally poked himself to get out of the car.

“This is crap.”

He huffed and looked down at the bag of supplies for their journey; energy bars, throat soothers, cough drops and a few vitamin shakes, all for Sam. He could scream but he wouldn’t. There hadn’t been a bag like that in the Impala since Sam was thirteen and had come down with an unshiftable flu.

Dean had slipped out from their home-base to stack up and to fill the gas tank. He had left his brother sipping hot lemon at the kitchen worktop, his skin grey and a sheen of feverish perspiration on his face. Dean had promised they were heading out to find Kevin, and he vowed he would keep his promises to Sam. Finding Kevin would lead to the final trial. Dean closed his eyes tight at the prospect.

He wanted Castiel back from wherever he had disappeared to with the frigging Angel Tablet. He was ~~thinking about~~ worrying about Cas when the road took him to Concordia instead of Lebanon Mall.

“You are such a wuss.”

Missing Paul already, freaking dumb. 

The first times he had returned to Geary’s Bar, it had been casual, fun, exploratory with no strings attached. Dean had told himself that he could take things or leave them. Love’em and leave’em Winchester.

Something had happened. Paul Kerry had got under Dean’s skin with his undemanding friendship, awesome hands and mouth and his open heart. Dean considered himself experienced but Paul could do things to a guy that no chick had ever… not even yoga-flexible Lisa.

“Not going there.”

Dean grabbed the handles of the grocery bag. 

Paul had said that they had a _Thing_. Not a relationship or a buddy-ship; A _Thing_. Dean liked it. 

His guts twisted in regret that he had disappointed the guy. Sorry that he had to leave.

Dean had been convinced before Purgatory that he couldn’t have a friend. Couldn’t hold onto a friend; keep them from dying on him, leaving him, having to have their memory of him wiped to keep them safe. Benny had been his friend. Such a friend that he laid down his life for Dean. He was gone now, sacrificed in the name of Sam. Dean would ask the vampire to do it again in a blink, but he could still do with a Benny-hug right this second.

Hunting the djinns with Charlie, having her visit his home, planning to meet up later, knowing she read Chuck's scribbles about their lives and private thoughts. All that Winchester Gospels crap in her big brain, and being almost killed more than once, and yet she wanted to know him. It made her a friend. If he could have a friendship with Charlie maybe he could add Paul to his single member social circle.

Sam didn’t know about Paul.

If he told Sam, how would his brother take it? Dean chewed on his lip. Sam was ill, ‘damaged’ Cas had said. Dean felt selfish considering placing his whatever with Paul in front of Sam, to deal with, react to, be disgusted by?

Sam would have to be told about Paul, if it were ever going to be more than a _Thing_. Perhaps Sam would be fine. Paul wasn’t a vampire, not a monster of any kind. Sam might be cool about it.

Dean couldn’t decide. He didn’t know if he wanted more. If he did would it be with Paul?

What if, maybe, just maybe, Cas came home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos. <3


	6. Talking honestly

Sam caught the corner of the table to steady himself. The dizziness was a bitch. He tried to cheer himself by wryly musing that he had all the side effects of being intoxicated without having to consume the liquor. Unfortunately he also was without the pleasant buzz of a few choice drinks.

He bent double as another round of coughing brought him to his knees. Geez, he had to get up, get back to his spot in the library before Dean came back. He wasn’t reading. The words were swimming on the pages as his eyes burned. 

Righting himself Sam took it slowly, small steps. He hated feeling weak. Hated that Dean thought he couldn’t complete the trials. He would and he could. He could do this, for everyone who ever fell to one of Hell’s bitches, for Dean. His brother deserved a future, even if he didn’t see one for himself. Sam was no longer so naïve to presume that Dean could have the normal life that Sam craved for himself, but he knew Dean could have a life, a good life, and Sam would to anything to give it to him.

Two head-breaking pulses of his migraine and Sam closed his eyes. Maybe if he rested his head for a while. He made a pillow of his arms and laid his forehead on top.

He heard his brother’s boots coming along the walkway and down the steps to join him. If he could only lift his head he would welcome him home.

“Sammy? Sammy? Geez Sammy, what are you doing still at the table? I thought you were taking a nap before we head.” Dean hurried over and pressed his hand to Sam’s forehead.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Sam responded.

“You are burning up, man. There is no way I am loading your giant body into Baby in that condition. We will go tomorrow.”

“I’m good Dean.” Sam lied. “Give me an hour and a strong coffee.”

“No freaking way. Did you eat? You didn’t, did you? If I go to the kitchen your half of the lasagna will still be there.”

“Dean, I wasn’t hungry.” Sam whined, giving puppy dog expression #9

Dean huffed and pulled out a chair for himself. “Will you have some juice? There is still some to be finished off in the fridge, and an energy bar? I’ll cook us something nice tomorrow. Feed you up before we go. OK Sammy?”

“OK.” Sam took the offered granola bar and peeled back the wrapping, “So, what took you so long? I thought you were getting supplies.”

“I was, for the journey.” Dean got that only-detectable-by-Sam-(and Cas) shifty look in his eyes.

Sam huffed.

“For you, for the car.” Dean protested.

“What is her name?” Sam chanced, wondering what Dean would say.

“Pauline, you know that Sam.”

Dean flinched as Sam nearly choked on the bar only to recover and actually slap his knee he was laughing so hard. Dean smiled back his eyebrows raised in querulous wonder.

“Pauline!” Sam roared out between chuckles, “For someone who spent his teenage years hiding his conquests from Dad, you suck man.”

“What the hell?” Dean looked pissed now.

“Paula last week, Pauline now, what will it be when we get back? Paulette, Pauleeca, Paulasina, Paulita, Paulianna…” Sam collapsed his head onto the table.

“Sam, have you lost it?” Dean asked.

“Hey Dean, who have you been meeting up with? Really?” Sam asked perfectly serious and meeting his brother’s eye.

Dean bit his lip. 

“Come on man. Humor me here.” Sam asked in a soft easy tone. He didn’t want to spook Dean now.

Dean couldn’t look at him, “Paul.”

There a moment of complete stillness in the bunker. Sam couldn’t believe his brother had admitted that he had a new ‘male friend’. Dean was holding his breath. He raised his head and looked at his younger brother. Sam was smiling, not his smug smile or that terrible cruel parody that Robo-sam contorted his face into. He was smiling like he did when they got through a brutal hunt unscathed, or when someone gave him a salad that was organic and had arugula in it.

“Where’d you meet him?”

Dean blinked at such a normal question in a reasonable tone of voice. “Over in Concordia, a few weeks back, after… after the last trial.”

“You like him?” Sam asked tentatively, still trying to prevent a Dean freak out, or clam up.

“Yeah, Sammy.” Dean scrubbed his jaw, “He is… He’s nice.”

“Good in bed?”

Dean leapt out of the chair, “Geez, Sammy, you don’t ask that.”

“Meh.” Sam shrugged. “Figure he must be, for you to go back. You say goodbye this evening?”

Dean calmed down, but he didn’t sit. Instead he ran a hand along the spines of some of the books. “Yeah, he was disappointed I was going. But that’s our lives. He’ll deal or he won’t.” It was Dean's turn to huff and shrug his shoulders.

Sam could see the way Dean hurt, imposing even a little sadness on his new friend. He quirked a smile for his big brother, “You sure picked a good time to start a relationship.”

“Freaking hell. I’m not in a relationship. Sam! Seriously. Paul and I, we have a _thing_ ”

“Mmm-hmm,” Sam nodded indulging his brother. “So the most important question…”

Dean swallowed hard and looked like he was about to panic at whatever he imagined Sam was going to say.

“… He buy you pie?”

Dean laughed wearily, “Yes Sammy. He bought me pie.”

“Good. I don’t have to find him and give him a ‘talk’ on how to treat my brother then.” Sam grinned at how easy it was to wind Dean up, “Now Bitch, I will have my lasagna heated up.”

Dean just shook his head in an exaggerated fashion, “Coming right up Princess.”

Sam watched Dean retreat to the kitchen and clapped himself on the back for his victory. Now he could spend their Impala time probing his brother for more solid details on this new man who had staked a claim on Dean’s heart.


	7. Spanner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments. I truly appreciate them.
> 
> Some readers have commented that this is a Dean/Paul fic not a Destiel....
> 
> So far the relationship has been Dean and Paul. Dean has been gaining a friend and allowing himself to explore his bi-sexuality with someone who treats him well and cares about him. Castiel is missing in action, watching other people’s coats and talking to feral cats....
> 
> In response to some of the comments I have told how sad I was that Dean felt he had to choose between Benny and Sam. Dean deserves to have a friend, a good friend who is not in conflict with Sam. 
> 
> That paragraph was a little spoilery but I wanted to reassure you that this is not a story of heartbreak, but a story of Dean and Castiel slowly making their way towards each other.
> 
> Have patience dear readers, I hope you will stick with the story...

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Paul turned the key on his apartment door and pulled out his ear buds. He wiped his forehead with his tee, kicked off his Nikes, and headed to his kitchenette for a bottle of cold water. The endorphins were still pumping. Five miles in thirty two minutes, not bad, but not his personal best.

His cell was resting on his worktop between his empty coffee mug and cereal bowl. The little light on the side was flashing. He flipped it open; one voicemail and one e-mail.

He brought the voicemail up on speaker as he chugged back the cool liquid. It was Carlos reminding him that it was his turn to stop at Starbucks before their shift started.

He walked the few paces to the bathroom and turned on the shower faucet while he brought up the e-mail.

**Leslie.**

He sank down on the toilet and flipped the cell closed.

Why now? Nothing for weeks; not since the musical e-card for his birthday.

He stood and turned off the water and took a moment in the dispersing steam to compose himself.

He reminded himself that he had run into burning buildings and faced the might of the Iraqi army. He could read an e-mail. 

He tipped the screen with his finger.

“Hi Paul,  
I’m back in Kansas. I am staying with my sister Leanne in Junction City. I would have come to you but I thought you would like a warning, a hello, or a chance to refuse. Do you think we could meet? Maybe Paul?  
I tried your cell but the number was disconnected.  
Are you still in the apartment? Would you open the door if I showed up? Would you like to come to Leanne and Gary’s place? For Sunday dinner? Or is that too much, a crowd?  
We could meet in Salsa Verdi in Salina. You always loved their carbonara.  
My head is in a good place. Better now. I couldn’t deal, well you know.  
I’m clean now. Seven months and three days and counting.  
I’m sorry, Budgie.  
Please allow me to say it to your face.  
I still love you.  
Leslie-bear.”

Paul crammed the cell into the laundry hamper. Geez, he knew Leslie had it hard. His parents had turned their back on him and his ‘homosexual lifestyle’. When they died suddenly and Leslie found he had been written out of their will, he had lost it. Gone off the rails. Paul had been there for every minute of it. His loving support had not been enough, and on the day he brought Leslie home from rehab, his partner had announced he needed time and space to find himself. 

Weeks upon weeks of acting on autopilot had followed. Endless days of waiting for his life partner to walk back through the door. He hadn’t allowed himself to feel anything until recently, until Dean with his bright smile, soul filled eyes and comfort with taking things slow. 

He would meet Leslie. He had to meet him. He couldn’t turn him away. He needed to know if it was true. Would Leslie look fit and handsome as Paul preferred to imagine him, or would he see the shaking greasy haired wreck who Paul had checked into rehab during their spiral downwards?

He retrieved his phone from between the old towels, and typed up a brief reply. “Salsa Verdi, 8pm, Thursday.”

He gulped air and promised himself that if he looked out his window on Thursday evening and saw Dean’s black beast of a car, he would message Leslie and rain check. In that scenario, Leslie could have a dose of his own medicine and wait for Paul.

Lord, he wished Dean was not away on a job. He could talk to Dean about this. He knew the other man would not be jealous. Dean was carrying his own torch for his special someone to come back into his life.

Swinging by Starbucks, Paul ducked into St Michael and All Angels. Frigging Gillian and her God-complex were getting under his skin. She didn’t have to know that he lit some candles commending Leslie’s sobriety, Dean’s safety and his own heart into the Lord’s care.


	8. After the word of God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coda to The Great Escapist. Before the final scene.

_______________________________________________________________  
It was not yet dark enough for Dean to switch on his headlamps. The road was being eaten up under the wheels of the Impala, bringing the Winchesters home to the bunker.

Sam was in a fitful half-sleep slouched in his shotgun seat, in a position that his body had grown into over the years. Dean thought his brother looked marginally less unwell now that Kevin was safe and Metatron had pulled his head out of his ass. 

Taking a turn to avoid having to drive the interstate, Dean wondered how (in the name of someone who would listen) do you cure a demon.

Cas had rebuilt him from a molecular level when he had saved him from perdition. Dean was not sure if he was black-eyed as Alastair’s apprentice. There were no mirrors in hell. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. Maybe there was lore in the Men of Letters library. He felt a modicum of relief that Sam would have to spend some time on research. Perfect after what Sam’s body had been through. It would be not dangerous, book lore. Dude, couldn’t walk around a rundown fake-hotel without needing an ice bath. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket. The road was clear. He pulled out the cell and saw Paul’s name on the screen. There had been two voicemails that Dean had listened to after his visit to the Two Rivers museum. The first was nice, a message that Paul was concerned for his safety and asking him to call when he had a chance. The second had been a garbled ramble about finding people, Dean thought Paul might have been drunk when he recorded it. He opened the text message –

_Hi Dean. Kno U @ Wrk. U Bak by Sat? If so come for chilli @ 7. I Hve News. Stay safe. Paul._

Did they find the lost number two pool ball? Dean laughed at his own joke.

Sam jerked to full awareness beside him.

Dean winced that he had woken his brother, stuffed the phone back in his pocket and put on his game face. “So,” he began keeping his eyes fixed on the twilit road, “that was Metatron huh?

“Yeah.” Sam muttered.

“Not very impressive was he?”

“I don’t know Dean. He did rescue Kevin from Crowley.” Sam pointed out.

“But dude, seriously, the old-dad vessel, the crumbling books, the way he was squirreled away for millennia? Freaking coward.” Dean fumed.

“Huh?” Sam muttered having trouble following Dean’s logic.

“Ran away and hid. Freaking toddlers left alone in the kindergarten, the whole lot of them. Why are all angels such utter dicks? Metatron ran away. Gabriel the same.” Dean said with gusto.

“Why are you so peeved about what some douche angel did with his existence?”

“Sam, there could be people who needed him, needed them. Needed their help.” Dean almost growled and stared straight ahead.

Sam lifted his head a fraction and gave Dean an assessing gaze. “Is this about Metatron or about Castiel?”

Dean bit his lip, “Shut your cakehole, Sam.”

His brother sighed wearily, “Dean, I am too sick for your self denial crap. Cas didn’t disappear, not completely. He came looking for you.”

The sound of the Impala screeching to a halt caused a flock of tiny birds to rise out their roadside bush resting place.

“Wh-what?” Dean couldn’t catch his breath. He wondered if he was hyperventilating. “Wh-when Sa-sammy?”

“Geez, take a breath Dean. A few weeks ago. He showed up at the bunker. I told him you were in Concordia and he did his vanishing act for about twenty minutes.” Sam sighed, “Then he face planted back in the middle of the library all whacked out and kinda emotional.”

“Wh-what?” Dean couldn’t believe his ears.

“It was the night you won $20 at pool and brought me back a warm Heineken. Thanks for that by the way, the stomach cramp was a bitch.” Sam grinned and waited for the princess comment or a bitch/jerk exchange.

“Crap. Crap. Crap.” Dean slammed his hand on the dash. “And you didn’t think to tell me this?”

Sam looked ashamed, “Well, I wasn’t sure when you returned and he was gone…”

“Is that why you had two cups for tea? Sonvabitch Sam.”

“Look, I’m sorry. He was gone. You went straight to bed. Then there was all the research stuff and helping Charlie and not sleeping and being dizzy and then Metatron…” Sam’s voice trailed off.

“OK. OK.” Dean’s chest sagged. His brother was sick. He couldn’t stay angry with him. “Did Cas have the angel tablet? Did he say where he was or where he was going?”

“No and no.” Sam said wearily and pulled his fingers through his hair, “He said he was running low on juice.”

“Low on grace?” Dean’s head turned to Sam’s face and his eyes were like saucers.

“I think he is falling.” Sam said.

“Geez, Sam. We have to find him. I can’t leave him go through that alone.” Dean gulped.

“We are a little busy, Dean.” Sam pointed out, “I am not unconcerned but Castiel can take care of himself.”

“You don’t know that. He needs me.” Dean’s voice was raised.

Sam’s brow furled and he repeated back, “He needs you?”

“I need him.”

“You need him? Dean? What does that mean?”

There was a deathly silence in the car.

“Fuck Sam.” Dean squeezed his eyes closed and his palms curled to almost fists, “I love him. Alright. I frigging love him. Don’t you say one word. Not one Sam.”

Sam looked at his brother, his own eyes wide now. He waited to the mental count of twenty seconds. Breaking the awkward silence he risked touching Dean’s sleeve, “I knew you had _feelings_ for him, that you had allowed him _family status_ , suspected at times you found him attractive, but you love him?”

“Sam!” Dean warned his brother to shut up about it.

“Does Cas know this? Does your new guy Paul know this?”

“Paul knows.” Dean admitted. “He…. Fuck it Sam. Paul has an MIA partner, the type he would have gone to Massachusetts or France to make official by now if he hadn’t up sticks. He knows about Cas.”

“You go from having no gay lovelife to one worthy of a Hallmark special in one fell swoop. You don’t do things by halves do you?” Sam let exaggerated disbelief show in his tone and shook his shaggy head.

“Nope,” Dean let Sam get away with his effort to lighten the mood, “because I’m awesome.” 

He turned the key and the engine roared to life.

As the Impala rejoined the road, Sam laughed and made himself comfortable, leaning his head against the window. “I guess I’ll catch forty, leave you figure out how you are going to tell Cas when we find him.”

Dean left Sam have his nap. His aching worry for his brother and for Cas’s safety had not lessened but something warm and embryonic wrapped itself around his heart as the night came in and the miles brought them closer to home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter in a couple of days will be from Castiel's POV.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading my fic and leaving kudos and comments. 
> 
> <333


	9. Eiai is Japanese for eternal love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes from LOTR were found on IMDB, other mentions of the movies are from memory.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was Wednesday.

 

Castiel had a craving for norimaki. The Sushi Bar didn't open until noon and he doubted Biggersons were adding raw fish to their menus any time soon. 

 

He approached the Kino Royale at 10am on his walk back from a development show house, which had plastic wrapped furniture and an unfortunately early cleaning crew. There was a trickle of young and strangely costumed people entering the cinema. 

**LOTR Marathon**

Apparently for $40 you could see The Hobbit, three additional movies, and partake in a soda foundation and endless nachos. The day was cloudy promising rain. Castiel wandered in.

“Hey trenchcoat dude.” The pimpled ticketseller greeted him. “Didn’t guess this would be your gig? But it does contain subtitles.” The youth nodded sagely.

Castiel handed over his money and made his way along to receive his complementary soda and breakfast nachos (with egg). Lunch nachos would have chicken and evening nachos ripped beef. 

He wordlessly passed his cardboard tray of nachos to a tall man in a bearskin who had inhaled his own portion. “This orc thanks you.” The man called after Castiel as he made his way into the darkened theatre.

Castiel slept through most of The Hobbit, which was surprising and subsequently annoying when he overheard his fellow viewers’ enthusiasm as he retrieved another soda during the interval.

The tug of sleep was inescapable. In his moments of lucidity Castiel wondered if his body was trying to catch up on all the additional hours he had been denying it. 

The girl with the pointed fake ears in the row in front of him was sniffling as she pulled back from her wizard-hatted boyfriend, “Denis, please listen to this part.”

Castiel concentrated on the movie in response. He read the promised subtitles of the strange invented language. The immortal Arwen asked her human lover if he remembered when they first met, and Castiel hand burned with the imprint of Dean’s soul.

When Aragorn spoke of how his lover promised to bind herself to him forsaking immortal life, Castiel gasped as a profound bond was made manifest in this cinematic art form before his eyes.

The next words seared into him, hotter than holy fire, branding him, flaring his grace in an instant, so that mutters of an electrical power surge grumbled through the audience. Sidelights flickered and the sound stuttered on the stereo speakers.

“I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone.”

Castiel was riveted to his seat as the elf handed the mortal her glowing pendant. Her grace. The lover took it under protest, but it was given with free will and undying love.

The air was thick and cloying. The cinema too small and confining. 

Castiel reeled insensible the scene replaying itself in his mind. The words all spoken in the crafted Elvish, then in English, then by his own voice in Enochian but not to Aragorn.

When the final scene of the final movie played, a different pimpled youth asked Castiel to leave so that he could shut down that screen for the night. The muffled sound of car crashes and gun shots came through from the neighboring movie, and Castiel looked up. The place was deserted. The screen white. The late night attendant, who sometimes waved Castiel off, was standing at the end of his row with a garbage bag and a litter picker.

“What happened?” Castiel’s voice was hoarse again from disuse and dehydration.

“They saved the world.”

“They always do.” Castiel stood. He drained the last third of his room temperature gas-less soda. “What about the lovers?”

“Huh? Oh you mean Aragorn. Did you not watch the movies?”

“I may have drifted.”

“But before. Have you not seen them before?”

“This was a new experience.”

“She becomes mortal and they end up together. But seriously did you dig the battle scenes?”

Castiel was not intentionally rude but he avoided the irrelevant question and made his way out onto the rain dampened street.

He stumbled into the late night Biggersons and ordered a coffee.  
.  
There was an angel outside. The angel tablet thrummed.

Castiel summoned his vestige of grace and when he blinked he was in the derelict graveyard. The cats were absent, away on feline business he supposed. He waited for the host to make an appearance but the night passed second by ticking second and no garrison member appeared. No pawn of Naomi came close.

“I know they have found me.” He said to the fountain as the morning dew made patterns on the grass stems. The armless and nose-less angelic representation remained stone and unmoving. There must be stone funerary angels in graveyards across the world. Each one subtly different from another.

There are Biggersons in every town in the States. Sometimes more than one. All the same. Identical. 

If he could use the tablet’s _desire_ to evade detection….

In Santa Fe he borrowed a cell phone and called Tess Blair to apologize for his absence.

In Lincoln he used the joint’s pay phone to try one of Dean’s cell numbers but he got a recording of Dean’s strange attempt at humor and the voice telling him to leave a message. He hung up.

In Brooklyn he ordered a cheese burger. He ate one in Kleinfeltersville.

In Dearborn he spilt his milkshake.

His coat was dry of the substance when he used the restroom in Decatur.

He first sensed Ion in Fort Worth.

He knew they were getting closer when he smelled them in Atlantic City.

By the time he came upon the devastation he was weary and heartsore. Burned out eyes spoke of the futility of it all.

He wondered how much of his existence he had forgotten and if Naomi would erase Dean from his mind.

He had never been so happy to see Crowley but he kept his expression schooled.

As the bullet worked its way through his mortal flesh, he sucked air. This air of this day, that somewhere on this continent Dean also breathed.

He almost grinned at Crowley's assumption that touching the tablet broke the connection with Naomi. The tablet had caused a flare in his grace but his ultimate disobedience of a direct order was the kicker. Unfortunately the demon’s inaccurate reasoning had brought him stumbling to the correct location.

When the tablet was ripped from him, he wondered if it would kill him.

If he was dying then he couldn’t leave without laying eyes on Dean once more. If Dean was asleep he would watch over him. If he was with his new man, then Castiel would not interrupt. If he was with Sam, he would chance bidding farewell to both brothers. It didn’t truly matter what Dean was doing, where he was, or who he was with, Castiel’s focused narrowed.

Ion was rabbitting on about his rebellion. The words were like Babel. Castiel experienced pain more profound than when he fell onto a trawler off Delacroix, as he pushed his own fingers into his flesh. 

‘For Dean,’ he thought as his fingertips found the angel bullet. 

A flush of victory when he held the weapon, moved to a splinter of regret for his traitorous sibling as he forced the bullet into the other angel’s brain.

Now that he was unguarded, he knew he would not remain free for long. He needed to take his chance. He needed to find Dean before his injuries proved more than his remaining grace could knit. 

Could human bodies cope with a tablet sized hole?

Modern medicine had astounded Castiel in its invention. He had once observed as Dean watched an episode of Dr Sexy where a man had been impaled on a garden gnome. The patient had survived and was well enough to go home after the advertisement.

Maybe there was hope, if he could get to Dean.

He didn’t know if he could locate the hunter using their bond, but he had to attempt it. 

“Dean.” He intoned placing all intent he could muster into the word. Silently on the human plane but at sonic volume on the celestial he boomed the Enochian word for bondmate.

The tarmac was wet and rough under his cheek. He ached down to his very bones from the impact. His blood pooled on the dark asphalt. 

It hadn’t worked. 

He was in the middle of nowhere. On a deserted road. Alone.

Why had he not risked it, said something, gambled on holding or losing Dean? The potential loss had always outweighed the chance that Dean would respond to his affection. 

 

In a broken whisper he spoke into the night, "Dean I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all eternity without you."

 

He had never told his charge that he needed him too. Needed him so completely that it filled Castiel. Departing grace did not leave the angel empty, it made room for this. 

Need bursting from him without its receptacle to accept it. 

Castiel grieved.

He saw the river in Purgatory. The dry leaf bank. The grey tree trunks. Black leviathan goo on his filthy clothes. The desolation. The guilt. The necessity to keep himself apart from Dean for his own safety.

Would Dean understand that he has used the same reasoning now?

The dark trees that lined the road morphed into the Purgatory trees. The day that Dean and the vampire had found him played in his mind. The hug. Being held in Dean’s arms, as if he was the most important being in existence, instead of the least deserving of his attention. 

Dean had said those words then. He needed him. 

In the crypt, Dean’s (beautiful) face marred by the beating from Castiel's own fists, and still Dean pleaded that he needed him.

I need you Dean.

Need you…

Dean…

Dean…

A beam of light and the roar of the engine.

The car stopping.

His heart rising to fill his throat with hope.

“A little help here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
>  I was listening to Set The Fire To The Third Bar by Snow Patrol ft Martha Wainwright as I wrote this.
> 
> "I'm miles from where you are,  
>  I lay down on the cold ground  
>  I, I pray that something picks me up  
>  And sets me down in your warm arms"
> 
> It is a beautiful song of two lovers separated by distance.
> 
> Here is a link if anyone wants to imagine Cas and Dean in the lyrics and singers http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bfa9yxCpWoA


	10. Everything I touch turns to dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG the feels after Clip Show. I think they clipped out my heart....
> 
> .

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

All the way back in the car Dean’s mind was running on a loop. 

_Don’t you die Cas. Don’t you freaking die on me. Don’t you die Cas, you leaving bastard, don’t you dare die on me._

There was the background noise of the engine, the nightmarish gurgling breaths from Castiel behind them, Sam coughing and attempting to start conversations that Dean could not hear.

Castiel was insensible and rambling by the time Dean took his shoulders and Sam his legs to get him inside the bunker and down to the Men of Letters’ infirmary room.

“Is that Enochian?” Dean spoke for the first time since he had said Castiel’s name by the side of the road.

“Elvish” Sam smirked, “Castiel has encountered Tolkien or else there is a whole other dimension of weirdness.”

Dean’s brain still wasn’t able to focus and Sam’s words slipped around him like melted butter down a hot baked potato.

Once Castiel was laid on the gurney by the white tiled wall Dean looked up at his brother. “Get out of here.”

“No. Dean. I’m helping.”

“Get the freaking hell back upstairs. Take a shower and some Advil and go to fucking bed.”

“I’m not seven, Dee. You can’t tell me what to do.” Sam sounded seven.

“Sammy bedtime.” Dean’s forced his tone to be light but his eyes were like rocks.

It took a few moments of standing immutable in the wake of bitchface #5, the one with the side order of pleading Sammy puppy eyes, but the younger brother turned around and walked gingerly to the door, “Holler if you need me, you know, to pass you a scalpel or the iodine, Dr Sexy.”

Dean nodded with a grim expression and turned to examine the gaping hole in Castiel’s abdomen.

“You stupid frigging celestial child.” He spat the words as he cleaned around the open hole with some iodine and absorbent pads. “What did they do to you? Try and rip your heart out with their bare hands?”

Dean wasn’t expecting an answer but Castiel muttered “Angel tablet… secreted in my chest cavity… “

“You stupid sonvabitch.” Dean pushed himself back from the gurney. Castiel hadn’t opened his eyes. Dean wasn’t sure if he was conscious in the proper sense of the word. “What’s this hole then? Digging around inside you were they?” He felt sick at the thought. Bile rose in his throat.

“Angel bullet… Crowley forged from a blade…”

“Swell. Freaking awesome. Angel bullets.” Dean walked away. He opened the glass fronted unit to get some more gauze. The glass cracked with the force of his rage as he slammed it.

There was no point in stitching Castiel back together. His grace would heal him. It should heal him. Dean scrubbed the back of his neck wondering if he should have taken Castiel to a hospital. The angel still had juice. He had landed in the path of the Impala. Dean hissed his frustration at the whole damn situation.

Castiel lay prone while Dean carefully wrapped his wound in gauze and sterile dressings. With his fingertip he stroked the lower edge of the bandage just above Castiel’s boxer elastic. 

He felt human now. It scared Dean. Castiel would need to be taken care of, he would need to watch over him, protect him, prevent the nightmarish 2014 version of Cas from coming into being.

He didn’t know if he could do it. Sammy needed 100% from him now. They had to close Hell. 

Finding a khaki army style blanket Dean tucked it around his angel. 

He should have gone to find Sam, had a beer. Break his new three drinks rule and drown his pain in a six pack and a half bottle of scotch. Instead he sat watching Castiel breathing and sleeping. Is this what Castiel did for him so many nights? Sat and contemplated his sleeping form.

“Dean…”

He was up off his chair and at the angel’s side. Castiel was still asleep. He strained to hear.

“…face this world alone… you were wrong… I have to….”

Dean couldn’t listen. Even in his dreams Castiel was trying to leave him. He made his way through seldom used hallways to arrive back at his room without encountering Sam.

The room taunted him with his prayers. His pleas to Castiel to come home. Had they been heard? Had Castiel seen his weakness and despised him for it? Saw him as a flawed ally, an untrustworthy one. Once a day, early in his routine, Alastair had driven a burning poker through the left ventricle of his heart. He could feel it now.

Dean was practiced with his hell memories. He could wind them up like boxer’s strapping and wrap them around his fists. They fuelled his fight and hardened his core. It was time to put back up the wall, harden his heart and stand beside Sam on his quest.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Castiel stood silently with his arms straight at his sides. He was aware but disconnected from the townspeople surrounding him. He could not see their past and futures nor place them in the vast genealogy of their species. Two young teenagers biked past high pitched laughter hitting him like a wave. He had no clue what they found so funny. He was isolated and bereft. 

He could do this. He could enter the store and have vital human supplies back at the bunker for Dean, and for Sam, waiting for their return. He just had to get one of those wire basket contraptions, find his chosen products and pay with money. 

He had woken alone in the strange infirmary room. Dean was gone. When he found the brothers in their centre of operations, Dean was so tightly coiled with tension that Castiel could almost taste its acridity in the air. Castiel had attempted to complement him on his new home but Dean had walked away. Sam had shown him some concern, but when the angel attempted to apologize to Dean things went horribly wrong. He regretted not waiting until they were in private but Sam was sitting there and instead of saying I love you and I’ve missed you every second, he said those oft repeated words which drove Dean crazy. But he was sorry, so very sorry. 

Dean thought that Castiel had been ignoring him and wanted to know if he was sorry for that. When he had answered Dean all that came out was a gravel toned ‘yes’ but he had wanted to say that doing so had nearly broken him. Then it became clear, all his fears had a solid foundation. He closed his eyes in the face of Dean’s wrath. He shouldn’t have come back. He should have tried to die somewhere cold and peaceful. He had lost Dean’s respect. He had lost his place in Dean’s affections. Dean wouldn’t listen to any explanation, leading Castiel to dejectedly agree that he hadn’t trusted his friend. He saw with eyes of splintered glass that his bondmate’s wall was back up, higher and thicker and harder than ever before, and Castiel knew he was to blame. 

“You can take your little apology and you can cram it up your ass.”

“Dean I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“Yeah, you always do" ... and later..."We don’t need your help.”

Un-needed, unwanted, a useless burden. Just like he feared. Everything was ruined. 

“Everything I touch turns to dust.” He intoned to the air.

“Excuse me.” A lady with a toddler in a stroller and two large grocery bags was looking at him. “I need to pass here.”

“I’m sorry.” Castiel moved from her path and entered the store. His thoughts filled with what Dean would like. This could be a peace offering, a gesture to demonstrate that he did think of Dean in his absence.

Beer, the Asian scantily clad women, the egg broke in his hand, there was no pie. It was ruined. Even this simple task could not be accomplished. A hysterical panic rose. It would reaffirm Dean’s poor opinion of him. 

Later he told Metatron how he had failed, but he did not include this latest profound failure. He followed Metatron’s instructions nascent conscious pricking him at the death of the angel’s child. This is what he was. He was a hammer. Metatron was wrong about his ability to help heaven but he could blindly follow orders. He just wished it was Dean telling him what to do, instead of shouting at him for what he had done wrong.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Sam’s eyes were filled with that terrible liquidity they had held when Jessica was gone, when Dad was taken, when Dean had confessed his deal. He wasn’t in tears, but it was taking everything to hold himself together. He was doubting their mission, sacred freaking purifying quest as he termed it. Dean could see it all. He saw his brother’s resolve crumbling in the face of the deaths of those they had saved. They had liked Sarah Blake. Dean suspected that Sam had thought of her many times over the years.

His phone buzzed. He looked at it and muted the call.

“Dean?” Sam called but Dean was off. 

He was on the second target practice emptying his clip with precision when Sam appeared.

“Dean. He’ll be back.”

“Don’t you get it Sam?” Dean spat with venom, “I don’t care.”

“You do. Your actions, lashing out. You do care. Don’t do this to yourself.”

Dean shook with unreleased temper. He kicked himself for his ‘emo feelings’ confession to Sam. He wished he could take it back now, so Sam wouldn’t see him for the idjit he was. 

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket and smashed it against the wall. The second cell in as many days.

“Was it Crowley? Did he say who was next?”

“It wasn’t that slimy turd. It was Paul. I can’t do it Sam.” The gun fell from Dean’s fingers. Sam’s eyes followed it to the ground. “I can’t anymore. We aren’t safe to the people around us. I can’t answer him. He is looking for me. Sam he was freaking crying on the last voicemail, and I can’t.”

“Use my phone, call him. Go to Concordia, Dean. I’ll be fine here for a few hours.”

Dean made a primeval noise. “Can’t have Crowley know about Paul. I have to stay away from him. I can’t even call him. Crowley has to have some Hell link to our phones, Sammy. I can’t put Paul in danger. I have to…”

“Dean.” Sam’s voice held little sympathy and that cold tone alone made Dean raise his head, “Isn’t that what Castiel did to you?”

Dean stood there stunned and frozen, struck mute and breathless as Sam left the shooting gallery.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from What I know by Jake Epstein
> 
> "What I know is that I hurt you, oh.  
> What I know is that I suck and what I know is that I'm sorry.  
> What I know is that I'm a loser to you---  
> What I know is I screwed up and then I never earned your trust.  
> What I know is that everything I touch just turns to dust."


	11. It's good to hear your voice, you know it's been so long

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Concordia Fire Station. Lt. Carlos Alvarez speaking.”

“Hello, yeah. Can I speak with Paul Kerry?” Dean realized he didn’t know Paul’s rank. He betted he was higher than lieutenant but wouldn’t share in fear of being seen as boasting.

“Can I ask who is calling and what it is in relation to?”

“My name is Dean. I’m calling to speak with Paul on a…. It’s a personal call.” Dean bit his lip and leaned his head back against the window of the phone booth.

“Dean? Paul’s pool playing Dean?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

“Paul isn’t here. He is on personal leave.”

“What?”

“He has taken some personal days and some time owed. It’s not my place to say if Paul hasn’t told you….”

“He’s tried to, I mean, I’m away on a job and my cell got smashed and then my spare broke, and so yeah, he had left me voicemail.”

“Right. Right Dean. Have you heard of Leslie?”

“Yes.” This wasn’t good. Dean closed his eyes and his grip tightened on the grimy telephone receiver.

“Well the piss poor excuse for a human being is back… You still there Dean? The junkie says he is a reformed character. Paul had us all come over for a chili and nachos night in his honor.”

“Ok. Do you mean ‘junkie’ as an insult?”

“No man, the guy is, or was, a user. He was perma-fried before he vanished. Look Paul doesn’t make friends easy. He’s mentioned you as one. Gotta tell ya, man, we are all quaking in our boots at the idea of you and Paul teaming up for poker night… I guess you know now about the wastoid’s reappearance.”

“Thanks. I’ve lost Paul’s cell number. It was on my busted phones.”

“One second”.

Dean ground his teeth as he waited. He found a scrap of paper in his jacket pocket and a pen in his inside one. He repeated the number back to the firefighter. 

“That’s it, Dean. You know he is in Concordia. Paul I mean. Gillian saw him at the back of their church yesterday morning. Leslie is staying in Junction City. Something happened after the chili-do. Paul hasn’t been at work since. He could do with a friend. Just saying.”

“I hear you.”

“Good bye Dean.”

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Dean sat across the bench seat of the Impala. The sun was low in the sky and he had parked her up close to the bunker entrance. He looked at the throw away cell phone in his hand. 

What if it was another spell? Dumbass, of course it was a spell, but what if Crowley could spy on any phone they used. Dean grimaced. Sam’s logic was that the spell either A) worked on their known cells, B) would have worked on the phones they had when it was cast, making new phones safe, C) Crowley wasn’t using a spell on their phones but had their numbers and had gotten hold of Chuck’s books. In all cases using a disposable cell once was an acceptable risk. Sam had peeled off three twenties of his own money and sent him on his way.

The scrap of paper with Paul’s number came out of his jeans pocket wrinkled. He smoothed it out and taking his courage in his hands dialed.

It rang. Dean waited. 

“Look, I know you are just doing your job but my number is unlisted for a reason. I don’t want pet insurance, or new windows or a set of limited edition bibles…”

“Paul.”

“Dean?” Paul’s voice dropped to whisper, “Dean is that you man? Are you OK?”

“Yeah, yeah man, I’m good. Peachy.” Not really, Paul, Dean thought, I’m only peachy if the peaches are maggot infested and bitter.

“Are you home?”

Dean looked at the Kansas sky and half-lied, “No. I’m still on the job. It’s proving to be a doozy. I… I wanted… my phones got smashed. I rang the fire station, guy called Carlos gave me your cell.”

“Oh.” There was pause. “So you didn’t get my voicemails? Thank The Lord. I was drunk.”

“I got them. Well up until the one about chili sauce being a metaphor for life.”

Paul gave an attempt at laughter, “That’s all of them.”

“Cards on table, I’m not a guy for all the emo-crap, but something is going on?” Dean waited again. He could hear noises, like maybe Paul was fixing a drink.

“How is Sam?”

“The same, worse. We lost someone on the job. Someone we hadn’t seen for a long time, but who worked with us once, way back. Hit him hard.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It is never easy to lose a comrade. This bounty sounds dangerous. Are you sure about sticking at it?”

“Sam…” Dean flicked a spot of dust off his leather jacket, “Yeah Paul. I’m sure. The end is in reach and countless motherfuckers will be taken out of the picture when we succeed.”

“Good then.”

“Yeah.”

“So… Did Carlos tell you anything else?”

“Uh-huh. He told me Leslie turned up.” Dean held his breath.

“I’m shot to pieces Dean. I can’t. I don’t know where I am, and I’ve ruined things before we even got to… I’m a mess and a fool and a shit friend.” Paul’s pitch rose and a tremble came into his words.

“Shush, shush, hey, stop it man. You want to tell me why you are beating on yourself.” Dean braced his legs against the door and leaned back. He hoped Paul wasn’t going to breakdown like on the voicemails, but the least he could do was listen.

“Leslie’s back in Kansas.”

Dean made a noise encouraging Paul to continue.

“So I met him in Salina for a meal, and you should have seen him, he looked good. Real good. Well and healthy and a bit different. He got his guyliner permanently tattooed and I ribbed him about it. It was like old times. He leaned across the table and plucked a grey hair from my temple, tutting at me. We were tense but it was good, you know. So I thought… stupid stupid… that I’d do a chili night.”

“You invited me.” Dean interrupted, a bit of his surprise evident.

“Of course. I told Leslie that I wasn’t a monk but there had been no-one until recently. He… Sorry Dean, he asked if I’d fucked you, and I told him we hadn’t gone that far yet… I’m sorry, but I had to be honest…”

“Yeah it’s OK.” It wasn’t OK, not at all. Dean wasn’t at all OK with his _thing_ being dissected in explicit detail with Paul’s seemingly jerk-ex.

“… He said he hadn’t done more than date a few times, and it had felt wrong. So the get together... some of the guys and Gillian and her husband, and my brother Peter. It was good. They were standoffish with Leslie at first, and I think Peter gave him a dressing down, but it was… good. Leslie slept on the sofa…. I got up Sunday and I came into the room and Leslie was tossing two pills into his mouth and I saw red…. I didn’t tell you before, but he is an addict… He told me he was clean and there he was… like the early days when things went screwy… it started with prescription meds… I tackled him and I… Jesus Dean… I stuck my fingers down his throat…”

“Geez.”

“Yeah. He scrambled away from me. He looked at me as if I had assaulted him. I’d never. Dean honest to God. I had never hit him, even when he was crazed on uppers and beating his fists against my chest, I’d only held him back.” Dean could hear Paul take a swallow of whatever poison he had poured for himself. From the gasp, Dean suspected the Irish whiskey. “He said they were headache pills and he got his bag and pulled out the pack. They were. The type you buy at any gas station or grocery store. He told me that I didn’t trust him. I mean, it’s not that I didn’t trust him, but there he was in front of my eyes taking meds.”

“Maybe you can’t trust him?”

“But I do.” Paul’s voice was low, “but he doesn’t trust me now. I hurt him.”

“That’s not… Did he say he doesn’t trust you?”

“No. He said he was sorry. Sorry for everything, but you know it is a bit late for that. It wasn’t his fault. None of it. At the start he stepped up the meds to keep his pain from me, to protect me in his twisted logic. He thought that keeping his troubles, and inner demons, from me, would keep me from harm. All that happened was finally after months of torture, he was gone. Into rehab and then time in a clinic. He hated it and he hated not having control over his thoughts and I know he blamed me for leaving him there.”

“You did your best for him. Sounds to me like you couldn’t have done more.”

Paul heaved a sigh, “I’m putting all this on you, and you have your own troubles. Do you mind if I finish?”

“No, Paul man, I wanna hear the end of the story, you can’t leave it there.” Dean replied in a more upbeat tone than he felt.

“When he came home, things were strained between us but I thought we were working things out, but then he left, you know, to find himself. It worked, I think. I mean he is clean and sober. He looks healthy…”

“But…?”

“How do I repair things with him? How do I show him that I’m not angry with him? I mean, yeah, I am angry with him for leaving me and all, but not so angry that I don’t love him. I love him, Dean. I still…”

Freaking super. Paul was sobbing down the phone. If he was there, Dean could clap him on the back, maybe hug him tight, but down the phone with words, he was stumped.

“… you still there Dean?”

“Yeah, man. I’m listening.”

“What would you do?”

“What?” Someone was seriously asking Dean Winchester for relationship advice?

“I want to know. Really what would you do? I haven’t seen him since then. He didn’t return my calls. He always was the sulky child in our relationship. Do I go to Leanne’s, his sister’s? Do I wait for him to come to me? What do I say to him?”

“I dunno, be honest?”

“Tell him I’m still sore about him leaving and I don’t want to hear his apologies? Or that I’m so glad he is still alive and not dead in some junkie squat? Or that none of it matters because he found his way back to me and I need him as much as he needs me?”

Dean gulped. “Ah, the last one.”

“You don’t mind. I don’t want to hurt you Dean. I’m not that kind of guy, I wasn’t using you…”

“Freaking hell, Paul. I know that. I know.”

“I’d like you to meet him. You know, when your hunt is done.”

“Yeah, maybe. He would hardly want to meet me.”

“But he would. He does. I told him about you, and about you and Castiel.”

Dean bit his lip. He held it back. He didn’t think the small noise from the back of his throat could be heard down the cell.

“Dean?”

“Paul.” He couldn’t get another word out.

“Is everything alright? Did you get news of Castiel?”

Dean took a moment and closed his eyes again. “It’s complicated. I can’t…”

“OK, this isn’t a pajama party. We aren't teenage girls sharing marshmallows and mutual soul bonding.”

“Or braiding our hair.” Dean chuffed.

“Or pondering vajazzling and watching Beaches and Titantic.”

“Don’t even mention Titanic, dude. You OK Paul?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“For what, I did nothing.”

“You listened. You are a good friend, Dean. I mean it.”

Dean kind of choked up a bit. “Thanks, you too.”

“You gotta go now, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Back to check on Sammy.”

“Stay safe Dean. I’m praying for you.”

“Stop!”

“What?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t pray for me. This is going to sound like the wackiest thing I’ve ever said to you. But don’t pray for me. Please. Don’t ask God or Angels to watch over me, or anything. Don’t mention me in your prayers. Don’t ask for some celestial power to listen to you. Please. Please do this for me.”

“OK. That is wacky, but I can respect someone’s beliefs. I won’t light any more candles to St Michael for you.”

Dean laughed. It was a bit manic and bitter but he was grateful, frigging happy that Paul had been praying to Michael, not angels in general out on some broad width celestial loud speaker. If the cage-locked douchebag was the only one receiving Paul’s pleas, then maybe Naomi would never learn of Paul’s connection to him.

Sonvabitch Crowley, freaking witch Naomi, the sooner they got those gates closed the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Blondie: Hanging on the telephone
> 
> "It's good to hear your voice, you know it's been so long  
> If I don't get your call then everything goes wrong  
> I want to tell you something you've known all along  
> Don't leave me hanging on the telephone"


	12. I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally...

On a cold Tuesday night in Houston:

Dean stood to attention beside Castiel.

He was certain his insides were being liquefied. At least that’s what all this felt like. His mind screamed at him with worry about Sam. He trusted Sam. He knew he could get the job done but by God did he want to be by his side, watching out for his little brother. Crowley was a slippery motherfucker. 

If that anxiety wasn’t enough to turn him into a gooey mess, Castiel had just told him he was leaving for good this time. Dean pressed down hard on his sparking grief. Sacrifices had to be made. They were closing Heaven and Hell. If they succeeded they would save countless lives. If Castiel didn’t make it, Dean’s heart would be ripped, if Sam didn’t, there would be nothing of Dean left to rip. 

Castiel’s coat moved in the corner of Dean’s eye. He raised his head expecting the cupid to exit the bar. He had been surprised at the barkeep and Rod’s epic love. They didn’t look the type. 

“How about the next one’s on me?” Paul said that when it was his turn to buy. Was that what he and Paul looked like to the elderly patrons in Geary’s? Minus the beards, beer guts and caps, but it was kind of cool. 

ET was going home. Dean hadn’t cried at ET. He was too small. He only remembered his mother’s soft hand in his hair and his own hand on her rounded belly telling the baby that ET was sad. Castiel had not understood the reference. Dean’s second eye roll at the recent memory was as half-hearted as his last effort. Still sometimes Castiel got pop culture. They had made a sweet good cop bad cop when giving the angel tablet to Kevin. Dean had been inappropriately turned on by Cas’s growling voice and his tendency to digress when mid-intimidating-rant. 

If they plucked the bow from the cupid angel-lady, would Castiel vanish to try and find Metatron and the task of the third trial? If he did and he completed it, would he even come to say goodbye? Had that beer just now, been their last chance to talk? Dean still hadn’t told him about the love thing. If this was it, he never would.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Earlier:

You take your heart and your essence and you lay them bare. You impregnate those four letters with meaning but can’t bring yourself to risk any more words to explain your sorrow, your urgency, your need for him. He isn’t angry with you now but you sense the rage as been shelved. You stare at the neck of the beer bottle hoping that when the cupid appears you will be touched by their grace, it will bolster yours as it continues to slip away, and you will find the courage to speak more than, “Dean.”

________________________________________

Later:

Where did it all go so wrong? 

Castiel sat on his haunches by the lake and watched his brothers and sisters falling from the sky. He could imagine the celestial frequency of screaming shock and agony, but he was no longer connected to it. When the traitor Metatron has stolen his last vestige of grace, it had not hurt. There was so little left after his final jump to Heaven that Castiel was surprised the light could even fill the receptacle. 

Another wave of the fallen plummeted to earth like meteors. Castiel remembered the night the young planet was dusted with asteroids and space rocks. He was young too then. Samael had taken him to see the beauty of the sight. The archangel was so proud of the planet and the personal effort his Father had permitted him to take with the burning rock destined to hold life. Samael had pointed out to Castiel where he intended to flood the ground with water and how Father himself had designed the tectonic movement of the crust over the molten centre. As the light show slowed, Samael had confessed to the young seraph, that the planet was his favorite creation and he cherished it dearly. What would he make of it now? Did he and Michael even know what was happening from their infernal prison?

Castiel was pulled from his reminiscing by the shivering of his body. He was cold. The night was chill. The traces of humanity that he had recently experienced had not prepared him for the full sensation. He felt an ache in his stomach. Hunger at a higher pitch than a desire for some miso and norimaki. He pulled his coat tight around him and wondered where he was. He could be anywhere. His angelic GPS was lost. Wondering if his ability to converse with different nations was also a thing of the past he wet his lips and tried.

“Bonjour Dean.”

“Tansi Dean.”

“Merhaba Dean.”

“Goedendag Dean.”

Satisfied he would be able to converse with the native inhabitants of this place, Castiel pulled himself upright. His muscles protested which was annoying and distracting. Metatron was a louse. He was worse than an imp of hell. He was a dirty sneak. He was a sneering thief who had played Castiel. 

“I should have listened to Dean.” Castiel chided himself aloud. 

Metatron was all those things but he was also wrong. He told Castiel to live a life with a wife and children and condescendingly instructed him to come and tell his story when he died. Did he think Castiel would not remember? Perhaps he had thought it would be like after the leviathan and he was Emmanuel, but Castiel had experienced a slow fall, one with his memories even to the days of creation, retained. The times Naomi had stolen from him had not been retrieved. They remained lost to her interference. Castiel did not grieve for her, but she was his sister and her final plea to him and Dean spoke in her favor. 

The tree line was thinning. Castiel thought he knew where he was. He wasn’t in Norway or Russia like he imagined. He could hear the distant shout:

“Sam, Don’t you give up on me! You listen to me. CASTIEL!!! CASTIEL!!! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?”

Castiel’s mouth dried up. His heart pounded and in synch he pounded his feet into the ground. He pushed his fully human body for all it was worth, reaching towards Dean’s voice. 

“CAS?”

He was nearly there. Close enough now to hear Sam’s pained words of awe as the angels continued to fall. Close enough to see Dean’s head tilt back against the car, Sam tucked in beside him. Close enough to hear Dean pray.

“Dear God, don’t let him be some clueless infant somewhere! How will I find him then, you divine bastard?”

Castiel ignored the blasphemy and wondered if his siblings were going to land as babies, infants taken in by human families. Aniel had fallen thus. He added his own, perhaps futile, prayer that they would be taken care of. 

He broke the tree line, stumbling over a gnarled root. Dean’s eyes were still skyward. It was Sam who saw him first.

The younger Winchester tugged at Dean’s sleeve. Castiel could see that Sam was all grey skin and bathed in sweat. Dean turned his gaze and said tenderly, “What is it Little Brother? You holding on there, Sammy?”

Sam lifted his arm as if it was weighed down by an anvil and pointed at the former angel.

Dean’s head turned as if in slow motion. Castiel could see his gulp in the movement of his throat. Dean’s right fist clenched in the dirt, and Castiel thought for a nano-second that he was going to be punched and called out for his role in the fireworks show. But Dean mouthed his name. Sam pushed him away from the car and said “Go, Dean. Go on, I’ll survive without your arm wrapped around me for a few minutes.”

Castiel had closed the distance between them but his steps faltered. Distracted by the roar of an angel landing within a few miles of their location, Castiel found himself wrapped in Dean’s embrace. 

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare leave me like that again. What happened to you? Have you fallen too?”

Castiel chuffed a laugh with no humor. “Like Samael of old I was the first to fall.” He pulled Dean tighter to him, soaking in the heat radiating from the hunter’s body, “Naomi is dead. Metatron killed her. You were right. He betrayed us all. He stole the last of my grace as it was the final act of his spell to do this.” Castiel tilted his head back to the sky.

“You’re human?”

Castiel nodded, his hand strayed up to the back of Dean’s neck and he pulled the man forward so that their foreheads touched and their breath mingled.

“You remember, right Cas? You remember everything?”

“From the dawn of time all the way to you Dean.” Castiel moved his hand to Dean’s arm, where their bond mark should still be. 

“I’m still pissed with you.” Dean muttered.

“I know.”

“You never listen to me.”

“I know.”

“You vanished again and Sammy nearly died.”

“I know.”

“He might still die.” Dean’s voice broke.

“He won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“We won’t allow it.”

“We won’t allow it.” Dean repeated. “Damn right we won’t. Come on Cas, let’s get Sammy home.”

“Home?”

“Yeah, you are coming home aren’t you? You aren’t running off to save angel babies or anything?” Dean stepped back distancing himself.

“Yes, Dean, I’m coming home.”

“Good. Give me a hand lifting Sam’s giant prissy ass into the backseat.”

“I have no ‘mojo’ as you call it. I cannot transport him. I am of no use to you.” Castiel bit his lip, confessing his fear aloud.

“Dumbass, I know your juice is spilled. I meant you take one shoulder and I’ll get him under the other and we can haul him upright.”

“Hey, Hey, douches I’m right here.” Sam could barely speak but he tried to use the Impala to stand. Both other men dashed over and caught him before he slipped back to the ground. “Crowley?”

“Fuck Crowley, I don’t give a freaking damn about the turd.” Dean tugged the back door open.

“I should check...” Sam’s voice gave out and he leaned more body weight on Castiel.

“You are gravely ill.” Castiel told him.

“No shit Sherlock.” Sam rolled his eyes, but let them ease him into the bench seat.

“You want a blanket?” Dean asked.

“You mean the one still covered in Castiel’s blood. No thanks.”

“Prissy Princess.” Dean laughed. “See Cas I told you.”

Castiel looked at Dean not quite understanding his joke.

“That. See that expression.” Dean took a step closer, “That is you. Angel or not angel. It does something to me here.” Dean beat once on his chest with his palm. “You listen to me Cas. Don’t you change. I don’t mean not to grow or learn new stuff and I do mean listen to me when I tell you shit. But don’t go drowning your sorrows in drugs and stuff, or trying to change your personality, or turning all cringing with human guilt and apologies.”

“I have enough angelic guilt and regret.”

“Well get fucking used to it, cause being human is full of regret and mistakes and fucking heartache” Dean called as he moved to the driver’s door.

“You make it sound miserable.” Castiel intoned. “I do remember from before, when we were fighting the apocalypse.”

“Yeah but this time you grace is vamoosed? Yeah?”

“Yeah. Gone, permanently.” Castiel took shotgun while Dean slid into his seat. 

Dean twisted round to check on his brother. Sam was drifting into a fitful sleep or coma. Dean hoped it wasn’t a coma. He couldn’t do much until they were home. “Keep a check on him Cas. Lean back every so often and make sure he’s not running a fever. There is water and pain meds in the glove box.”

“I will do that.”

“Good. Good. So what does it feel like?”

“Losing my grace?”

Dean nodded as he put the Impala into reverse.

“It was painful and depressing.” Castiel paused to gather his thoughts. “... and empting but the initial burst of pain was intense, you know, you were there.”

“What?”

“When I picked up the angel tablet and disobeyed Naomi in refraining from taking your life.”

“Are you saying that the angel tablet broke your grace?” Dean glanced at Castiel as he stalled the car before taking the turn onto the highway.

“No.” Castiel’s brow furled in confusion. How did Dean not know this? “When I chose you.”

“What Castiel? Listen to me here. You are going to have to fill me in on this logic of yours. Cause all this is news to me.”

Castiel licked his lips again. He looked back to check that Sam was unconscious. The younger brother was out cold, but his breathing was even and his face relaxed in sleep.

“I chose you over heaven. I made my decision. The grace was being purged from my system every day. It was only a matter of time. Metatron stole the last few weeks of my angelic existence from me.”

“You chose me?”

“I did.”

“Over heaven?”

“Over everything.”

“But you didn’t come to me. I was praying to you.” Dean’s grip tightened on the wheel.

Castiel risked laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder like he would if he was about to transport them.

“I couldn’t. I didn’t know if I would lead Naomi to you. I would put you in danger and might not have been able to defend you with my reduced powers. And I thought I would disgust you.”

“Cas?”

Oh Lord in Heaven; was this hot stream of salty liquid sliding down his cheeks and into his mouth, what crying was?   
“I was right. I did disgust you. You hated me when I returned.”

“Cas. No. I was angry. Angry and hurt. I was worried about you. I thought you could have been dead. I thought you’d stayed away ignoring me, ignoring Sam and me when we needed you. Then Sam told me you had visited but not stayed to see me. I was hitting out. I’m not an emotions expert you know.”

“Join the club.” Castiel intoned.

Dean laughed. “Did you just make a joke?”

“I might have.”

“You’ll be quoting movies at me next.”

Castiel whispered full of trepidation that he was about to be kicked out of the car “I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone. I choose a mortal life.”

“What Cas?”

“It is from the Fellowship of the Rings.”

“I know that.” Dean lifted a hand from the wheel and placed it over the one still resting on his shoulder. “Not all those who wander are lost.” He pressed down on Castiel’s newly warm skin.

“What?”

“All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost? Did you not watch the movies, read the book?”

“There is a book?”

“Honestly you are priceless.” Dean laughed and returned his hand to the wheel. Castiel felt its absence. “How’s Sammy doing?”

Castiel removed his own hand and his seatbelt to twist back and feel Sam’s forehead. “The same I think Dean. I can’t see his molecular structure anymore.”

“Huh? That must be different for you.”

“It is.”

“Are you ok, man? Like were you injured in the fall?”

“No. I am fine. I believe I am experiencing a moderate to high level of hunger.”

Dean gave a slight disbelieving head shake. “Glove box. Energy bars. I’ll take one too.”

Castiel unwrapped the fruit filled bars and passed one to Dean. “Can I ask you something Dean?”

Dean muttered his assent around the bar.

“Your boyfriend, will he....”

Dean spluttered pieces of macerated bar all over his clothes. He coughed and spat up a piece logged in his throat. “Jesus Christ.”

Castiel flinched at the Lord’s name being used as a profanity.

Dean scrubbed a morsel of chewed dough off the windscreen. “Cas. I... fuck... I don’t know what to say.”

“Dean?” Sam’s wheezing saved his brother from continuing, “Did I sleep?”

“Yeah,” Dean called back, “Sleeping freaking beauty. Cas here is my sidekick Pinocchio made a real boy, and I’m Buzz Lightyear.”

“Naw haw, Dean you’re Bambi.” Sam slurred.

“Am freaking not Sammy.” Dean risked turning his head but Sam was already dropping back to sleep.

“I see you more as Perdita the Dalmatian.” Castiel mused looking at Dean with his sideways head tilt.

“You have been catching up on cinema. Ahem you do realize that you just called me a bitch.” Dean rolled his eyes. “That makes you Pongo.”

“Those dogs would go through anything for their family. I found the feature inspiring.”

Dean squeezed Castiel’s leg. “Family is all that matters, and Sam comes first no matter what. Right Cas?”

Castiel enjoyed the sound of the engine, the sky now clear of falling angels and the way Dean’s hand lingered on his thigh.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


	13. Stones taught me to fly

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Heading south on I-81, Dean wished he had some scotch tape or matches to keep his eyes open. If things were normal…. When were they every normal? If they were Winchester Normal, he would have pulled over at the last Super 8 or the one before it.

Sam was making these disturbing gurgling noises. Dean was tempted to pull over and check on him. It sounded suspiciously like when he had a nosebleed running down the back of his throat. Castiel was just about as disturbing. He was asleep. Honest to god asleep. He was crumpled up in his trench coat, head lolling, and a thin clear line of spittle tipping from the corner of his mouth. Dean really should have wakened both of them but he just wanted to get home. He was close now. The Impala was eating up the road. Sure, he’d had to avoid a couple of angel made craters and had been diverted onto I-81 by a road block due to a presumably angel-falling initiated factory fire.

Hands gripping the wheel with painful pressure kept Dean awake. He looked at his right hand as he crossed the state line from Nebraska into Kansas. That hand had rested on Castiel’s thigh and it had felt as if it belonged there, as if by touch he was claiming Cas as his own, and saying that he belonged with the fallen angel too. Dean shook his head, where had that thought come from? He hadn’t said any of that. As soon as Cas had mentioned Paul, Dean’s mind had some kind of blue screen freeze up. Still it had been pleasant to hold onto Cas’s pant leg as they had begun their journey south.

“Dean.”

The hunter smiled over at Castiel, “Yes Cas?”

“I think Sam needs a hospital.”

“What?” Dean braked hard, not even putting Baby in park. He twisted around to see blood coming from Sam’s nostrils and mouth. “Fuck! Oh Fuck! Goddammit.”

Dean went into controlled panic mode. “OK. OK, Where are we? Get me Sam’s phone from his pocket and his wallet!”

Castiel leaned back. Dean was touched by the way Cas kept talking to Sam telling him what he was doing, even though Sam was clearly unconscious. 

“Here.” Castiel handed them to Dean, but he only took the phone from Cas’s grip. “OK… Cas have a look for Sam’s health insurance cards. There should be a few.”

Dean fiddled with Sam’s techie android phone. After a frustrating ten seconds or so, he managed to turn on the GPS and bring up a search engine. They were six miles out from Republic County Hospital in Belleville. He stepped on the gas.

“Sam Rawlings?” Castiel asked holding up an ID.

“No good, we burnt that one out.”

“Smith?”

“No freaking way. Why has he even still got that one?”

“Lawrence… We will use that one Dean.”

“What?” Dean started at Castiel’s determined tone.

“I will be able to obtain information on his condition for us.”

“Huh?” Dean was not fully concentrating on Castiel’s words. He was at the city limits and looking for directions to the hospital.

Castiel passed over an ID. Dean looked down expecting Sammy’s goofy face but it was Castiel looking out from underneath the laminated card.

“Castiel Lawrence.” The ex-angel said simply.

“Well I’ll be… Fine… I don’t have my Lawrence fed badge with me, so you’ll have to be the brother.”

“And you can be my husband.” Castiel declared casually.

Dean couldn’t form words to answer that statement. He might just need emergency care of a coronary nature. He mounted the kerb at the hospital entrance and dashed into the reception. “My Brother, fuck,.. in law… he is bleeding… from his mouth and nose…”

Dean felt Castiel wrap him in his arms. His knees had gone and Cas’s arms were the only thing keeping him upright. “I can’t lose him, Cas. I can’t. I stopped him. Stopped him from curing Crowley. This isn’t meant to happen. He’s supposed to be alright.”

He let Castiel guide him to the family waiting area, let Castiel’s serious formal tone impress the doctors with his concern for his ‘brother’, let Castiel give him a coffee and tilt the paper cup to his mouth to sip it.

The frantic activity around him and Castiel’s grip on his lower arm finally pulled him back to reality. He cleared his throat. “How long did I phase out for?”

Castiel looked at his watch. “Two hours.”

“Sam?”

“They are draining fluid from his lungs and giving him a blood transfusion. He was drowning.”

“Freaking hell.”

“Dr Keelson says we were in time and he is hopeful.”

“Can we see him?”

“Not yet. They have tests to do, soon Dean.” Cas pulled on his arm.

“It is like an episode of ER in here. The web said this was a small county hospital.”

“Angelic fall out.” Castiel looked uncomfortable. “I believe some of these patients are my former brethren, others have been injured by their falls.”

Dean nodded. He couldn’t worry about that now. “Lawrence? Huh? Why? Where did you get the ID?”

“I was put on the spot for a family name.”

Dean smiled, “…. And you chose Lawrence?”

“Yes. It made me feel close to you when we were apart. Dieter, a software design student, created my IDs.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. He heard a voice approaching which was familiar but he couldn’t place it. This was all he needed, their cover blown while Sammy was in dire need. He hoped it was someone they had helped and would keep their trap shut. 

“...Could have been killed… how could you be so reckless over a family pet?”

Dean sat up to attention and saw two fire-fighters walking towards him. Paul’s lower arm was wrapped in gauze and the top half of his fire suit was open and hanging down. His face and white wife-beater were smeared with soot.

“Dean!”

Then Paul was on him. He was pulled up with an action that must have hurt the fire-fighter’s burnt limb. “Dean are you OK? Why are you here?”

Dean’s face was smashed against Paul’s shoulder and he felt Castiel rest a hand on his lower back. Talk about being caught between two lovers. He should write a country & western song.

Paul loosened his hold, wincing as he drew his arm back.

“Sam…” Dean couldn’t. He shook his head. “Sam..” He tried again.

“Got worse hey? You sure picked a doozy time to hit an emergency room, every hospital in the state is heaving. Weren’t you on a job?”

“Yeah. Yeah Man. We blew the frigging thing off. We never do that. We always see it through, but Sam. He… It’s….”

“Sam is receiving treatment.” Castiel interrupted.

Paul raised an eyebrow noticing the other man. Then Dean watched as Paul’s eyes travelled down Castiel’s face, shoulders, arm to where his hand was glued to Dean’s back, grounding him. 

Dean couldn’t cope with any of this. He didn’t want his life to be a melodrama or Jerry Springer crap. “What happened to you Paul?”

“I’m an idiot. One of those _comets_ that fell to earth landed on Stephen Anderson’s roof. The whole house went up. Three engines to put it out. We got all six kids and the parents out, but doofus here thought he could save Mutty, their sheepdog.”

“Did you?” Dean asked softly.

“Nuh.” Paul grunted, “I got a dead dog, an inconsolable seven year old, a sizzled arm, and probably a reprimand on my file for recklessness. What a freaking crazy night.”

“Tell me about it.” Dean said rhetorically. There was an awkward pause while Castiel continued to do his staring thing at Paul. Dean coughed. “Paul Kerry this is Castiel Lawrence. Cas, Paul.”

Paul’s eyes nearly dropped out of his head. Castiel was not at all what he expected. The guy had bed-tossed hair, a slim body, intense eyes, a toothy grin and what was with the gravelly voice?

Dean ran.

He wasn’t proud of it, but it was all too weird. He bolted for the restroom and leaned against the closed cubicle door for the count of one hundred. Once his immature hide and seek was done, he washed his hands and splashed his face, and went to find a doctor to tell him about what they were doing to Sam. He had to keep repeating to himself that this hospital visit was not like when Hallucinating Sam was hit by the car in Indiana or when Dad or Bobby… he stopped himself. He wasn’t losing Sam. He just wasn’t.

Doctor I-wear-scrubs-so-am-better-than-you refused to tell anything to Dean. He stomped back to the waiting area. Paul and Castiel were still there. Their knees were touching and Castiel held Paul’s hand in his.

Dean had a momentary panic that they were talking about him, judging him. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve been telling Castiel about Leslie.”

“Oh!” Dean felt a little guilty that he hadn’t asked, “I should have asked you…”

“No Dean, it is fine. Sam must be filling up all that empty space between your ears.” Paul grinned.

Dean returned a smile for the cheeky comment, but Castiel looked offended.

“Dean is very intelligent. He is not just a pretty face. Although the symmetry of his features and the exquisite tone of his eyes…”

“Digressing again, Cas!” Dean called in horror but Paul only chuckled.

“So Paul, Leslie? You had the talk?”

“I took him back.” Paul’s grey eyes dropped to gaze at his feet.

“Like met up with him again?”

“Like he moved back in with me. I know, I know, I’m a push over. Peter nearly lost his shit. He bawled me out over the phone and told me he is not picking up the pieces next time. He got Dad to call me from his retirement hideaway in Galway and piss on me from a great height.” Paul looked at Dean as if seeking his approval.

“Cas and I are on our way home.”

“You are?”

“Yeah. Aren’t we Cas? As soon as we can sign Sam out of this place.”

“That may be a more considerable amount of time than you are estimating Dean.” Castiel told him.

“I know, but we will.”

“You know,” Paul tilted his head at Dean, “Concordia is only twenty miles away. Only, if you need anything, or you don’t want to drive all the way to Lebanon. Either of you are welcome to the sofa at mine, or if you need anything at Wal-Mart?”

“Thanks Paul. For now we are good.” Dean moved a little closer to Castiel.

Paul smiled. “I can see that. Dean I got to go, face the music and report back. You still got my number? Well use it dude. I want updates on Sam, OK?”

“OK.” Dean stepped up and clasped his uninjured arm, “Thanks.”

Paul leaned down and whispered in Dean’s ear on the far side from Castiel, “It is worth it. Every blow, every dagger, hold on to him.”

“You too.” Dean called after the departing fire-fighter.

Castiel didn’t ask about Paul. Dean didn’t talk about him. They napped in the chairs. One of the nurses who had wheeled Sam in on the gurney came and gave them the gift of two slices of a birthday cake from the staff room.

Dean paused with the last forkful in his hand and dropped the cake back onto the paper plate.

“I forgot.”

“Whaa?” Castiel mumbled around his mouthful.

“I forgot Sam’s birthday.”

“Birthdays are important?”

“We don’t make much of them. We never did. But it was his 30th. I should have remembered. It was the day we sewed Abaddon back together. I could have cooked him something special. 30 is a big one, you know.”

“What did Sam do for yours?” Castiel asked innocently.

“Nuthin. He was off sucking Ruby’s blood and pussy or whatever. I spent it with you.”

Castiel’s eyes widened like blue icy discs. “You did?”

“Yeah, in the hospital in Cheyenne. You stayed, even though I’d freaking cried my girlie eyes out the night before.”

“I remember.”

“Still thirty is a landmark for Sam, I should’ve remembered.”

“You do know that he is over a hundred and sixty.”

“Well I’m 74, but we don’t count hell.” Dean’s eyes glazed over as he pushed the barb of the way the years were marked in hell, and the memory of Alastair in Cheyenne, out of his mind.

“I apologize Dean. I need to adapt to human concepts of time and anniversaries. I’m quite old myself.”

Dean’s mood lifted. Castiel could do that to him; make a simple statement that caused awe, incredulity or amusement. “Come ‘ere.”

Castiel moved his chair closer to Dean, who threw an arm around him. He planted his lips into Castiel’s messy hair. It was their first kiss. Not their first kiss joined together but the first kiss Dean had permitted himself to give his angel.

“Mr Lawrence?”

They pulled apart. A slim doctor in scrubs with blond curls pulled back in a hair band came over to them. “I’m Doctor Elaine Larson. I’m Sam’s hematologist. Your brother is in recovery. We do not yet have a diagnosis for his symptoms but we believe it is auto-immune in nature. We have taken bloods and a bone marrow test. We are testing for Sarcoidosis, Tuberculosis, Aplastic anemia, and HIV. His lungs were flooded but no nodules were present. Has he ever suffered from a blow to the head or a severe fall?”

“Yeah, both.” Dean answered.

“Recently? In the last few months?”

Dean remembered the scratches on Sam and his torn shirt. He wondered if things had gotten heated with Crowley. 

Castiel gave Dean a look, “Doctor, Sam was on a road trip with my partner. Dean do you recall anything recent?”

“He collapsed in our hotel in Colorado. I found him burning up. He had a fever but it faded. He has not been well. We were on our way home. He has been coughing blood and not really eating or sleeping.”

“Any dizziness?”

“Yeah.” Dean had a flashback of his little brother stumbling around the bunker.

“Thank you Mr..?”

“Winchester.” Having Paul know he was there meant using a fake ID was pointless.

“When Sam is moved to a room in the LTC building a nurse will find you, Mr Lawrence.”

“LTC?” Castiel tilted his head.

“It is the adjoining building.” The doctor pointed out the window. “it is for our patients who require more than a brief stay.”

“Thank you.” Dean shook her hand impregnating the words with his gratitude. Castiel followed with a silent handshake.

“I will see you both again.” Dr Larson nodded.

Time seemed to crawl by until they were taken across a windy car lot to the LTC building. Sam was in his own room. His gigantor gaunt frame was too large for the slender twin bed. Dean took a chair and held his brother’s hand while Castiel stared out the window. At 5pm they were kicked out. They were told they could return between 7pm and 8pm and then not again until 11am. 

Dean railed against the restrictive visiting hours and the ridiculous illnesses they were testing Sam for when he knew that his brother had demon-tablet-trial-itis. Castiel nodded as Dean spoke around his food at the Dairy Queen. Cas listened while he took apart his own meal, examined the individual components and put it back together to his liking.

At 8pm they hit the road to Lebanon. Dean needed to get Sam some clean clothes and things. He needed to check in on Kevin, to see if he could reach Garth, and to call Charlie. He needed to text Paul and to go to sleep. 

Castie stood so close Dean thought he might trip over the ex-angel as they trudged up to the bunker door. The key was pulled from his hand and Castiel opened the lock. Dean called out for Kevin, but the runaway prophet had fled. A note said he had taken the angel tablet and a postscript told Dean that alarms had sounded in the bunker. Dean knew he should care, but he couldn’t find the energy.

An hour later, after dutifully leaving voicemails all round, Dean slumped over the kitchen counter. Castiel put a scotch in his hand and Dean knocked it back. 

“To bed?” Dean asked. He was thinking that packing a hospital bag for Sam could wait until morning.

“Where am I to sleep? I could take a chair in the library?” Castiel looked lost.

“Freaking hell!” Dean grabbed Castiel by the coat lapel and crushed their mouths together. Castiel’s lips parted in surprise and Dean used that as an open invitation. Then he was pushed hard against the kitchen wall, and it was all Castiel. His denim shirt was ripped off, leaving only the plaid and his tee. Castiel’s tongue was determinedly pressing his own aside. Cas pulled on Dean’s top lip with his teeth and his hand found the back of the hunter’s neck pulling them closer together. They broke, both inhaling deeply through their noses. Dean’s lip throbbed. 

“That was…” Castiel gasped.

“Awesome?” Dean suggested.

“Yes. It was awesome.” Castiel looked down at his tented trousers, “I seem to be aroused in a sexual way.”

Dean was half hard. He quirked a grin, “Not like a Ken Doll anymore, hey Cas?”

“I wish you would not compare me to mass produced plastic representations for children’s amusement. I am functioning as a human male, and I am experiencing sensations.”

“Wanna do something about that?”

“My knowledge is limited.”

“Hey no PhD in gay relations over here, dude.” Dean pulled Castiel in close so their bodies lined up. The pressure of Cas’s erection caused his own balls to tighten, but it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t Cas’s fault.

“I’m not… we… not tonight with Sam.”

“I know.”

“I want to with you, Cas, but….”

“I know, Dean.”

Dean’s hard on was gone. Thoughts of Sam lying there hit him. He looked at Castiel’s blown pupils and held out a hand palm up. Castiel took it and Dean led them down the hallway to his room. Dean didn’t know if it was Castiel’s first glimpse of his personal piece of space, but he suspected that he may have done his watching Dean sleep thing.

“It is perfect, Dean. I like your room.”

“Our room.” Dean helped Castiel to remove his coat and suit. He carefully folded the trench coat noticing mud splatter on the ends. Castiel was going to need changes of clothes. He sent Cas for a shower and found a spare set of sleep shorts and tee. 

He made quick work of his own shower and returned to find Cas sitting on the right side of the bed looking all at sea.

“We are going to have to get you kitted out with some clothes, man.” Dean sighed and Cas just nodded. He extolled the virtues of memory foam while Castiel continued to sit stiffly on the edge.

“Cas, come on man. I won’t sleep if you are going to play mannequin.”

The new human moved to get in next to Dean with jerky movements.

“What’s wrong Cas?”

"I'm sorry, sorry that I couldn't heal him for you. I'm pretty useless now." Castiel hung his head.

"Don't say that. Your grace couldn't heal the damage, remember?"

"If you are injured I won't be able to heal you."

"So?"

"and I'm unsure."

"About me?" Dean thought he just might shrink down to the size of a gnat if Castiel said yes,

“No, never of you Dean. I don’t know how to do this." Castiel made a sweeping motion over the bed, "I do understand we will not be having sexual intercourse tonight.”

Dean choked a little.

“What do you expect of me?” Castiel intoned.

“Lie here with me. Be here. Don’t leave me.”

“I can do that.” Castiel lay down facing Dean.

“Good. We’re good then.” Dean rested a hand on Castiel’s side under the ruched up tee, on his bare skin.

“Good Dean, very good.” 

Despite sharing worried thoughts of Sam, they fell asleep with Dean’s hand in its place and the back of Castiel’s fingers leaning on Dean’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damien Rice: Canonball
> 
> ...You step a little closer each day  
> So close that I can't see what's going on
> 
> Stones taught me to fly  
> Love taught me to lie  
> Life taught me to die  
> So it's not hard to fall  
> When you float like a cannonball...
> 
>  
> 
> About Sam.... this is not a death fic... Sam needs a bit of time and medical treatment of his symptoms to heal his demon-tablet-trial-itis


	14. Man starts over again everyday

____________________________________________________________________

 

Castiel woke. His body was splayed across Dean’s bed, stomach down, and a damp patch marred the sheet under his parted lips. He turned over and pulled himself up into a sitting position, lifting his hand to poke the crusty sleep out of the corner of his eyes. It was a very strange thing to have to do in the morning, as if human eyes were trying to seal themselves during the night. Castiel found it distasteful. He swung his legs out of the bed and looked around. His clothes were gone.

Bare feet padded down the cold hall floor towards the sound of a radio playing some of the rock music Dean preferred. He could hear Dean singing an occasional word to the nonsensical lyrics. Building a city out of rock and roll was impossible.

“Dude! Your hair!” Dean gasped as he looked up from a large bowl of whipped eggs, “Have you looked in a mirror this morning?”

Castiel shook his head. He ran a hand over his scalp. His hair did seem askew and a touch greasy, perhaps he should have used some of Dean’s shampoo’n’conditioner bottle when he had stood under the shower the previous evening. “I will endeavor to correct it. May I borrow a razor also?” He could feel the beard growth under his fingertips when he rubbed his cheek.

“Never had to shave in heaven, huh?”

“This vessel... my body now... it was in stasis, but I have shaved and showered since my grace began to deplete.” Castiel took a stool at the counter. “You were gone when I woke. Did you sleep?”

“Five whole solid hours. I have Sam’s bag packed up and I’ve been online. Those medical websites need a salt and burn.” Dean grinned and then looked at his watch, “You my friend have slept for almost nine hours.”

Castiel chewed on the right side of his top lip as he thought about all he could have done in nine hours, but his body needed to sleep. It was unavoidable, and he admitted to himself that he felt better, more refreshed despite the crusty eye corners, substandard hair and raw hunger in his belly. “My clothes are missing.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Your clothes were filthy. Follow me.”

Dean put down the bowl and walked out of the room. Castiel was clearly meant to fall in line, so he did. Dean took him a short distance down a corridor and opened a door revealing a small room lined with giant sized laundry machines.

“There.” Dean pointed.

Castiel could see his clothes spinning inside the round glass window of one of the devices. “They are wet.”

“Yes, being washed,” Dean said patiently.

“I understand that, but will they be dry before we have to leave for Belleville?”

“Nope.”

“What will I wear?” Castiel looked down at the wrinkled sleep tee and shorts. 

“My clothes. Sam’s a little large.”

A smile broke across Castiel’s face. He could keep pieces of Dean next to his skin. The day looked brighter and less filled with empty hours. “Can I wear your jeans with the ripped knee?”

“You like them hey?”

“Your body looks very appealing in them.”

“What else?” Dean sounded slightly breathless and Castiel tilted his head at the change in mood.

“Your new shirt. I would like the plaid with the white background and brown toned lines, and your black t-shirt with the V-neck.”

“You like those too?”

“Mmm, yes?”

“On me?”

“Yes Dean.” Dean’s voice was doing something to him. He had a warm feeling in his guts and a tightness that was nothing to do with his hunger. He wanted to take a step closer to him and press their lips and bodies together like they had the previous evening.

However Dean turned away and began walking back to the kitchen. “Sure. I’ll give you a spare belt too. I don’t want your pants falling down in the hospital.” Dean let out a spluttering laugh, “You’d have to shout Pudding!”

Castiel pondered silently if Dean’s mind worked in an unusual manner for a human, “Pudding?”

“Yeah man. Sheesh, You had to be there I guess.”

Dean didn’t explain further and Castiel filed the comment away to ask Sam later. They entered a small room with a brass plate on the door saying Pantry. There was a chest freezer and Dean pulled out a loaf of sliced bread. “Toast and eggs, Cas. It’s all we have until we do a grocery run.”

“I like eggs.”

“Peachy then.”

As Dean finished whipping up scrambled eggs and toasting the bread from frozen to hot under the grill, Castiel found some cutlery and plates.

The eggs were good and the toast hot and buttery. Castiel sighed at the first mouthful and Dean beamed back at him proudly.

“Tell me about your friend, Dean.”

“Paul?” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what to say Cas. He is a good man.”

“He is.”

“You know that?”

“I do. He is a warrior but one of good heart.”

“He reminds me...”

Castiel waited, silent and still, taking in the contours of Dean’s face.

“He reminds me of Benny. He doesn’t look like him or talk like him, but he...”

Castiel interrupted, “He cares for you.”

Dean gave a single head shake and dropped his gaze, “Benny‘s gone, Cas. He went back for me. I asked him too much and he still went. I can’t... tell you what I freaking feel when I think what he did for me. Do you think he knew?”

“That you loved him?”

Dean opened his mouth to deny it.

“Not romantic love, Dean. You loved him for who he was, for the way he watched out for us both in that place. He knew it.”

“I hope so.” Dean gritted his teeth. “I didn’t burn him. I buried him deep.”

“There is always a chance. I can’t count how many times we have all died.”

“Yeah. No more dying, OK Cas?”

“I will attempt to refrain from doing so.” Castiel deliberately used more formal language to elicit the tension relieving eye roll. He knew Dean was thinking of Sam and was anxious to get to the hospital.

10.59am saw Castiel and Dean waiting at reception. Dean’s hand kept grasping and loosening on Sam’s duffel strap. 

“Mr. Lawrence, Mr. Winchester.” It was Dr Larson.

“Good morning.” Castiel greeted. Dean said nothing but Castiel could feel the tension and his hand found Dean’s free one.

“Your brother is awake.”

Dean let out a long breath making Castiel realize he must have been holding it.

“Can we see him?” Castiel asked.

“Yes. I will walk with you. Sam has dangerously low iron levels. He is low on vitamins K and D, which is why his blood was not clotting properly. We are treating him as an auto-immune case. This means his body was attacking itself. However his symptoms do not fit neatly into any easy diagnosis.”

Dean mouthed Demon-tablet-itis to Castiel. 

“We are waiting on test results we have sent to University of Kansas’s lab. At the moment we are treating him for aplastic anemia.”

“What is that exactly?” Dean asked.

“The treatment? Blood transfusion for now. If the test results confirm the diagnosis we will start him on an immunosuppressant before he is discharged. We will want to see an improved blood count, no dizziness, no sign of fever, and a restored sleep pattern, before we let him go home.”

“Good luck with the sleep pattern.” Dean mumbled, and Castiel glared at him for the smart comment.

“We can aid Sam with pharmaceuticals to regulate his sleep but it would be better if his body can accept the need to rest.”

“How long?” Dean asked.

“Hopefully, a matter of days, depending on how well he responds to treatment.”

“Thank you Dr Larson.” Castiel left go of Dean’s hand to shake hers. He saw Dean looking down at his empty hand, as if he hadn’t realized they had been linked during the walk to Sam’s room.

“You are welcome, Mr. Lawrence. Come find me if you have any questions.”

Sam was sitting up in the bed. His cheeks were still hollow and he still looked gaunt but the grey pallor was gone. He had an IV bag of blood on a stand dripping into his arm. 

“Dean! Cas! Thank God. You don’t know how bored I am.” Sam smiled.

“Bored. Bored? Hey Cas? He’s bored. Freaking bored. You nearly landed me in here with a coronary!” 

Dean plunked the duffel on Sam’s bed. Sam grabbed it and opened it looking through.

“Dean.”

Castiel didn’t know how Sam could make one word sound like a whine.

“What Sammy?” Dean was half laughing.

“You brought me things you like Dean!” Sam had a skin mag half out of the bag.

“So? I brought you clothes didn’t I? You can change out of that sissy gown they have you in.”

“Where is my laptop?”

Dean looked chastened. “In the bunker. I’ll bring it tomorrow, Frances.”

Sam chuffed a laugh. “Hey Cas. I understand you are my brother and that you have secretly married Dean.”

Dean blinked at Sam.

“Ha ha! Dean. Nurses talk. It was a little confusing at first being asked about my ‘hot’ brother-in-law.”

“Dean is hot.” Castiel confirmed.

Sam lifted an eyebrow. “Are you wearing Dean’s clothes?”

“Dean stole my suit and trench coat and put them on a wash cycle.”

“Dude. I didn’t steal them. I told you they were filthy. You can’t go out smelling and looking like a homeless person.” Dean pursed his lips, but the ex-angel knew there was no heat behind the words.

Sam pulled out his clean PJs and took his phone from Dean. “So you go back to the bunker last night? How is Kevin? What is the story with the angels?”

Dean pulled over the chair he had spent most of the previous day sitting in. He sat down and said “Kevin is gone underground again. I’ve alerted Garth’s voicemail. Kevin may turn to him for a new place to hide. He took the angel tablet, whatever use that is going to be. Angels? They have crash landed all over the planet. Some in this hospital I believe. Lots of people injured by falling celestial dicks.”

“Dean.” Castiel interrupted, “they are, were, not all ‘dicks’. We don’t know what is happening. We were here until they insisted that we leave last night. Then we went home and Dean kissed me and we went to bed.”

Sam’s eyes widened and his bottom jaw dropped. Dean had turned his head away. Castiel didn’t know if he was angry or amused.

“Dean kissed you? And you went to bed?”

“We did not have sexual relations last night but...”

“Whoa! Whoa!” Dean put up his hands, “I think we need some ground rules here. Sam does not get told intimate details of what happens in our bedroom.”

“Your bedroom? I leave you both alone for one night!” Sam nodded very slowly, “What if I want to know details?”

Castiel realized Sam was teasing when Dean fake punched his brother and Sam called him a bitch and moaned about disturbing his IV and beating on an injured man. As they sat and talked Castiel saw Dean relax, tension leaving his muscles. Sam looked better and he seemed accepting of his and Dean’s new level of bonding.

They were kicked out while Sam got a lunch, which seemed to be composed of white bread sandwiches and neon dyed jello. In the hospital cafeteria over their own white cheese subs and long coffees, Dean asked Cas if he wanted to take a quick run to the goodwill store. Castiel agreed and a half hour later found himself the owner of a new pair of boots (your prissy dress shoes won’t do Cas), a couple of Henley’s and plain tees, three single color and one grey check outer wear shirts (I am unsure about plaid Dean), jeans, khaki combats and a belt with a feather embossed buckle (I just like it Dean). He also got a vintage black leather aviator style jacket, which Dean had tried to stretch to fit his own frame without success.

On their way back to Sam, Dean got a text message from Paul asking them if they wanted to come to Concordia for supper the following night, or earlier in the gap in visiting hours. Paul was off and would cook.

Castiel thought letting someone else cook for Dean and allowing him to relax could only be a good thing and he said he would like that. Dean gave him a squinty look, as if he was trying to figure Castiel out, then shrugged. Once they had parked back at Republic County, Dean fired off a positive reply to Paul, saying they would see him after 5pm the next evening.

The afternoon with Sam passed slowly. Dean never left the room, but Castiel took a walk outside in the fresh air. He decided that he didn’t like the smell of hospitals. He never had but previously he could just close off his vessel’s olfactory sense. He found walking a pleasant slow method of getting from one place to another. It was what he had spent a lot of his time doing while he had hidden the angel tablet. He left the hospital grounds to give the brothers some time alone and found a convenience store within a few blocks. He was determined that this time he could improve his shopping technique. After the goodwill store he was down to his last few bills. He found another niggling reason to be angry with Metatron. He had taken him from the store in Lebanon, leaving all his money in front of the pie-less virgin. This time things were much better. He found a fully stocked bakery section and purchased three pieces of pie. He would let Dean decided who got which pie, when he was back at the hospital. Swinging his grocery bag along, Castiel felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Brother? Castiel is that you?”

Castiel turned, “Zuriel?”

Zuriel didn’t look the best. His suit was rumpled and his tie undone. His normally perfect tightly curled hair was flat. “We are mortal, Castiel. All of us. What are we to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Heaven is closed to us. Our wings, our grace.” Zuriel couldn’t hide his distress. Castiel found it profoundly disturbing to see Zuriel’s vessel, his body, react in such a way.

“I don’t have any answers. Metatron did it.”

“He is Father’s voice. Do you think Father planned this?”

“No. I do not know if he is even listening anymore. Zuriel you should live.” Castiel cringed. He didn’t want to repeat the speech Metatron had given to him, but what else was he to say.

“How? There is no one to tell us what to do. You could do it Castiel.”

“I could not. I tried. Do you not remember?”

“We would follow you. Samandriel believed in...”

“Stop. Please stop. Zuriel we all have to do the best we can.”

“Should we change the way we dress?” The former angel looked at Castiel’s attire.

“Wear what you like, Zuriel. If I have one piece of advice it is to find out what you like and follow that, ensuring that we harm none in the taking of it.”

“Have you found what you like?”

“I have. Here.” Castiel pulled out a pen from his pocket and wrote Dean’s phone number on the back of his grocery store receipt. “This is not my number, but if you are in dire need, I can be reached on it.”

“Thank you. You have someone you are staying with? A human?”

“We are all human now, and yes I do. Dean.”

“The righteous man.” Zuriel was breathless, “I remember when you led the assault.”

“I remember you smiting at my side.” Castiel smiled even though the memory of those years in hell was grim, “Stay strong Zuriel. Do you need money?”

“No.” Zuriel laughed, still the same musical lilt as in heaven. “I opened the wallet in my vessel’s pocket. It was well filled.”

“Take care Zuriel.”

“You too Castiel.”

Castiel didn’t look back as he walked into the hospital grounds. He didn’t want to be tempted to offer his former garrison comrade a bed for the night. Dean had said that the bunker was their home, but Castiel doubted that extended to offering refuge to homeless angels.

“Where were you?” Dean accused when he came back into the room, “It is almost five.”

“Dean.” Sam rolled his eyes, “He is allowed to leave to get some air.”

“I brought pie.” Castiel thought he had better start with the positive. 

“And cake?” Sam asked.

“No. Should I have brought cake?” 

Dean stood up and took the bag from him, “No cake. Cakes are for looooosers.”

Sam just rolled his eyes.

“There’s three pieces.”

“Yes.” Castiel sat on the end of Sam’s bed. His feet were weary and his dress shoes were pinching him after the walk. “I purchased pecan, homemade apple and cherry custard. As you are the expert, I am leaving their allocation in your hands.”

“That’s me. Seeing as Sammy likes his nut granolas and frou frou salad dressings, pecan for you, Sam. If we had forks, we could have half apple, half cherry each Cas?”

“I will remedy the situation.” Castiel ventured down the hall, to where two orderlies were beginning the dinner service. He took two plates and three forks with gratitude.

Sam was picking at his pie with his fingers and praising how much better it was than the hospital food. Dean had restrained himself and was waiting until Castiel came back, then he spilt the pies slices evenly between them. They sipped sodas from the vending machine and ate their treats until the orderlies reached Sam’s room and kicked them out.

“Don’t bother coming back for 7pm to 8pm Dean.” Sam said.

“I’m not listening.” Dean glared.

“You have to hang around for two hours to visit for one. It is dumb, and you are tired and I am tired and maybe I want an evening nap.” 

Castiel appreciated the way that Sam had turned that request around to make it sound beneficial to him, so that Dean would agree.

“OK Sam, but I’ll be back at 11am.”

“With my laptop?”

“With the freaking laptop.” Dean conceded.

“Bye Cas. See if you can get him to pucker up more than once this evening.”

“Seriously. Seriously Sammy. If you keep this up, we won’t tell you anything.”

“You never tell me anything remotely _click flick_ , I am left to my own powers of deduction.”

“Deduct this, jerk.” Dean stuck one finger up at his brother and slipped out the door laughing.

“Bitch!”

Castiel relaxed on their journey home. Dean was in a good mood. He explained his pudding reference from earlier, looking a little disappointed that Castiel found it difficult to be amused at a wraith hunt in a psychiatric hospital. Castiel bit his lip. Dean was not intentionally hurtful and no doubt the parallel did not occur to him, but Castiel found it a little close to the bone after his own experience of taking on Sam’s madness. Dean soon changed the subject making plans to drag one of the single wide closets into the corner of their bedroom for Castiel’s new clothes and promising a trip to JCPenny so he could finish off his necessary items. Castiel presumed he meant briefs and socks. 

They stopped at the virgin’s convenience store in Lebanon. Castiel stayed in the impala for fear he might be banned. He had seen Dieter and Tessie banning people from the Grapevine and suspected he might not be a welcome return customer.

“Frozen pizzas, Cas?” Dean put a bag that also contained beer, milk and bacon in the back seat. “We’ll have to do a real grocery run before Sam gets home. He will freak if there is not at least one shelf of the refrigerator full of green edibles.”

Dean cooked the ‘meat feast’ pizza while Castiel chose a movie. He knew Dean liked to quote Star Wars and found a boxset in the as yet unpacked crate of videos, cassette tapes and DVDs. 

“Star Wars: A new hope?” Castiel asked as Dean set the sliced pizza and two beers down on the table.

“Good choice.” Dean said around a mouth of cheese and pepperoni.

The night progressed with them sitting then moving closer. Then at one point Dean’s arm snaked behind Castiel’s neck. By the time Obi Wan left Luke, Dean and Castiel were half sitting half lying across the big old sofa. When the Death Star exploded, Castiel gripped Dean’s hand, and Dean responded by leaning down for a long deep kiss. Castiel moved his hand to Dean’s hair and held him there. Desire uncoiled and Cas drove his tongue deeper, taking Dean’s mouth more fully. Dean ground down and Castiel bucked up to meet him. Dean paused with his hand on the other man’s zipper. Castiel could only grunt his assent and lifted his hips for Dean to let down his jeans. He nipped Castiel’s lips as he pulled down his own trousers. Then his heated body was pressing down on Castiel again. 

“So good, Dean.” 

“Yeah. I can make it better.” 

Castiel shut Dean up by tugging on his earlobe with his teeth and sinking his nails into his back underneath his layers of shirts.

“Fuck, Cas, claws man.”

“Not sorry,” Cas moaned as his fingers bit into Dean’s back, “not letting you go.”

It was urgent now. Dean’s callused hand wrapped around Castiel’s reddened cock, steadying its straining movement. When he ran a fingernail along the slit, Cas cried, “Oh more. More of that.”

“Yeah, you like it.” Dean’s voice was dirty and sibilant.

“Dean.”

“Fuck Cas, you’re going come, you’re going to come with only my hand on your dick and my nail scrapping you.”

Castiel tugged Dean towards him, causing the hunter to lose his grip and fall against him. The slide of Dean’s body across his cock was too much and he felt his eyes roll back and his body release. 

“Dean, Dean...” 

His breath was ragged and his temples pulsed. He opened his eyes looking into Dean’s green ones, shining now with pleasure and desire. He looked down to where Dean’s own cock slapped against their bellies, “You didn’t?”

“Yeah not a synchronized swimming porno.”

Castiel didn’t know what he meant, but he knew what to do. He took the base of Dean’s cock in his hand and squeezed, eliciting a moan. Satisfied he was proceeding correctly, he used his other hand to make fast jerking movements. Dean was panting. Castiel found his own breath shortening. 

“Please, Cas.”

Castiel squeezed harder then released his lower hand. He used it to wipe some of the spent come along Dean’s bottom lip and then leaned up to lick it off. One more grasping movement and Dean’s whole body quivered under Castiel’s touch and his lover came. 

Castiel thought ‘I did this. I did this to Dean. I gave him pleasure,’ and he felt sated and warm inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Man starts over again everyday, in spite of all he knows, against all he knows.”  
> ― Emil Cioran


	15. Changes: Turn and face the strange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N This chapter is longer than normal.  
> It comes with a Warning for explicit anal destiel porn (some of you are probably saying ‘Finally’ LOL)

+___+__________+___________+___________+______+

Dean Winchester was a man who appreciated the physical form. He was a connoisseur whether the body in question was Asian and full chested, Bay Stater and slender, Iowan and blonde, or a bemused looking former angel. Castiel was currently evaluating the merits of traditional briefs vs. boxer briefs, holding the multipacks in each hand as if their weight would help inform his decision. 

Leaning against a mirrored pillar Dean let his eyes feast on Castiel in his new second-hand clothes. He began at the damn fine pair of hiking boots and the tight fitting denims. There was a tiny fleck of cream colored gloss paint on the right rear calf, probably the reason some rich douche had donated a pair of Rock and Republic denims. Castiel had put on a white Henley. The top button was undone. He was wearing the check shirt that he had picked out on his own. The shirt had white and light grey squares and where the lines intersected a charcoal grey box. Castiel had combed his hair that morning but Dean had messed it up. On their way out of the Men of Letters bunker Dean had pinned Castiel against the wall with sudden urgency, which was formed from balled up anxiety for Sam’s recovery and his niggling doubts about Cas’s commitment to stay with him. Dean wasn’t analyzing any of that. Those feelings had gone un-verbalized and un-communicated, save for the desperation of the kiss and the fist bunched in Castiel’s hair. 

Dean sighed. Castiel noticed and tilted his head. In response Dean quirked a grin and told him to shake his lily white ass and choose already. Castiel held up the pack of boxer briefs and moved to the rack of various socks. Dean returned to thoughts of waking up stiff and uncomfortable but perfect, with one leg hanging off the old sofa and the TV showing snowy fuzz behind him. 

As Castiel moved down the aisle with his selection of dark shaded socks, Dean thought of how a few years ago he would never have allowed himself to look at another man that way. Hell, a year ago he was in Purgatory focused on survival and finding Castiel. A few months ago his mind was telling him there was nothing wrong with taking up Aaron Bass on his gentle offer of pleasure but he didn’t follow through. A few weeks ago Paul had made him come so hard he thought he might have permanently emptied his balls. Now he was here watching his angel spinning around a pedestal stand of sunglasses, watches and cufflinks. 

“Dean I would like to have one of these.”

“So get it, whatever it is.”

“I do not have sufficient dollars.”

“Bruce Holeyer is paying.” Dean brandished his latest credit card and came over to see what Castiel wanted to buy. It was a leather braided bracelet with a stud fastener for $15. “How do you have money anyhow?”

“I had a job.”

“Come again.”

“When I was guarding the tablet, I worked part-time as a cloakroom guardian.”

Castiel delivered this information in his normal deadpan manner, and it took Dean a moment to process. “You took care of people’s coats. That’s freaking hilarious.”

“Dean it was not hilarious. It was monotonous and certain patrons were overly aggrieved if I failed to retrieve the correct jacket. However sometimes I received tips with phone numbers written on the bills.”

“I’d say you did.” Dean smirked.

“The notes had been defaced. I was concerned that they would not be accepted in retail establishments but there was never a problem.”

Dean whooped a laugh and clapped Cas on the back, imagining clerks thinking they had gotten Castiel’s number and calling only to reach the gal or guy who had passed their contact onto the angel. It was a rom-com plot in the making. He plucked the bracelet out of Castiel’s hand and headed for the checkout. 

Outside leaning against the impala, he burned through the plastic barb tie with his Zippo. Then he took Castiel’s wrist in his hands and wrapped the bracelet around the pale skin. 

“It is a gift.”

“Thank you Dean.” Castiel squeezed Dean’s palm as it passed over his hand. 

“Come on then. We need to haul ass to get over to Sam by 11.”  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Castiel disappeared to get Danishes and vending machine coffees when Sam disclosed he had not eaten the hospital breakfast. While he was gone Dean expertly steered the conversation away from his brother’s prank level interrogation of what he and Cas had gotten up to the night before. Luckily the laptop was a major distraction. Dean thought Sam’s Wi-Fi dongle was probably prohibited in the hospital but that had never stopped his brother from connecting to the internet before. 

When Castiel returned they chewed on the reasonably well baked hospital cafe pastries while Sam brought up a news channel.

“.... washed up all over the planet. Reports from beaches of many hundred men and women of all ages, all with impact wounds, drowning victims with inexplicable burns on their backs. The World Health Organization...”

“Please.” Castiel croaked.

Dean’s head shot up seeking Castiel whose back was turned to stare out the window. 

“Please Sam turn it off, or mute your sound, I can’t hear this... my brethren... “

“For fuck sake, Sam, you heard him, turn the damn thing off.” Dean was up and pulling Castiel to his chest. Cas ducked his head, hiding his eyes from Dean. 

“Cas. I’m sorry.” Sam offered, “I just opened on the breaking news, I didn’t think.”

Dean glared daggers at Sam.

“Dean, I’ve apologized, OK? What do you want me to do?”

“It is fine Sam.” Castiel cleared his throat and turned to the bed. “You were not to know. I am taken aback at the manner in which my emotions manifest physically.” He dried his eyes on his sleeve cuff.

“You good?” Dean asked suspicious at the sudden calm.

“Yes Dean. If I had followed the logical path I would have realized that many angels would have fallen to the oceans, human and powerless to stop their bodies from expiring. It is a travesty, one to add to Metatron’s slate.” Castiel took a place on Sam’s bed on the opposite side from his IV which was delivering a yellow bag of vitamin rich nutrients this morning. “Sam, would you find something more pleasing on your computer?”

“Like kittens playing with wool?”

“Yes exactly like that.”

“No problem, Cas.”

“I despair.... you can’t Google classic cars, or you-tube the Zep?” Dean sighed heavily at the sound of mewling kittens and the other two making Awhh noises.

“Get this Dean, the kitty is sitting in a box with ‘Cat ornament’ written on it.” Sam gave his brother a mischievous grin.

“Dean do you think a cat would like to live in the bunker?” Castiel asked.

“No frigging way. Look at what you have done now, bitch. Allergies Cas, no animals in the bunker.” 

“If I still had my grace, I could cure your allergy and we could get a couple of kittens.” Castiel’s shoulders slumped as he continued to watch America’s next top feline model. 

Finally, interrupted by a nurse who checked Sam’s blood pressure, the cat watching was over. Dean was mollified by more usual research as Sam read out potential cases from small town newspaper sites. Castiel’s boundless knowledge was not dimmed by his fall and he was able to rule out several stories as aurora borealis, genuinely high bear populations, and impossible lies.

Before 5pm, Sam was already thanking them for spending the whole day keeping him amused. Dean was a little concerned that Sam expressed how tired he was for a second evening, and tried to explain how it was no hardship to return from 7pm to 8pm , but Sam would have none of it and told them to enjoy their meal at Paul’s.

Dean picked up a six pack of Heineken at the liquor store, with Castiel insisting that they also purchase a bottle of non-alcoholic Sangria Señorial. Paul was a beer and liquor man, but Castiel felt they should bring something that would fit with the chili and that Leslie could consume if he was dry. Also Castiel had observed the gifting of a bottle of wine when invited for dinner in more than one of the movies he had seen recently. Dean surrendered. It was hardly going to offend Paul.

The Impala was parked in Geary’s lot. So Castiel and Dean walked from the store to Paul’s apartment. At the corner of the next block a crazed looking woman with matted hair flung herself at Castiel’s feet.

“Hey there lady?” Dean startled.

“Castiel. You have to do something.” The crazy Amazonian-like woman demanded as she stood and crowded Castiel into the wall. Before Dean knew what was happening the bitch had him pinned against the whitewashed stucco. 

“Shancriel, what can I do?”

“I don’t know, you traitorous infidel. If you hadn’t killed Raphael….” She smacked the side of his head, but Castiel made no move to defend himself from the onslaught.

Dean calmly placed his beer on the ground and swung the ex-angel bitch round. “Hey sister, no point in crying over spilled milk? Capese?”

“I am not your sister.” She seethed.

“You are right about that, you don’t make the grade. Now Shanananiel make like a tree.”

“What is he saying to me Castiel? Do you listen to this mud monkey?”

“I think you should leave Shancriel.” Castiel had straightened up and was fixing his shirt.

“And go where? Where? How? Do you know I have to relieve this body of waste several times a day?” Her nose curled.

“Get freaking used to it. And you might consider washing your body. You reek.” Dean tugged on Castiel’s hand and marched him away from the bitch.

Around the corner, Dean halted. He wiped down the back of Castiel’s shirt with his hand. The other man’s breath was quick, and he seemed effected by the encounter.

“You good, Cas?”

“Yes Dean. I’ll be fine. She was the second one.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. 

“Zuriel was more understanding, but we were in the same garrison.”

“When did you meet another angel?”

“When I bought the pie.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?” The former angel was exasperating.

“No. Nothing significant happened. Zuriel will survive, I am confident. Shancriel is not coping as well. Should we have tried to help her?”

“Someone wise once told me I can’t save everyone.” Dean gave Castiel’s upper arm a squeeze.

“I don’t think she was receptive to my aid.”

“She looked like she was preparing to throttle you to be honest.”

“You are right.”

“When am I not?”

“I am starting to wonder.” Castiel said, and Dean heard the tease in his tone.

They were at Paul’s building. Dean was filled with a sudden enthusiasm to see the firefighter after that jarring encounter. He raced ahead of Castiel and knocked on Paul’s door. He shifted from one foot to the other and cradled the six-pack of Heineken against his chest for protection. He cleared his throat in preparation to thank Paul for giving him a second chance invite for chili and for his support about Sam.

The door swung open. Dean was hit by a blast of air freshener and cleaning products. He blinked and looked down on the twink pixie who had opened the door to him. Ok, so twink pixie was a little cruel. The guy was 5’ 7” on a good day. He was seriously pretty. Dean knew pretty, he had cringed at it in motel mirrors for most of his teenage years, but this dude, he was all soft lines and pink glossed lips. He had an eyebrow piercing and his icy blue eyes were rimmed with perfectly tattooed guyliner. His handshake was too gentle for Dean’s liking as he introduced himself, “Leslie Andover, and you must be Dean Winchester, come on in darling.”

“You are not at all what I imagined.” Dean stuttered and handed over the beer.

Paul’s voice sounded from inside as he came over to the entrance. “Hey Dean, I was just rinsing the rice, I see you met Leslie.”

The fire-fighter stood beside Leslie and Dean revised his height estimate down. Paul must have a foot over his partner.

“I do not understand why structures above three storeys are not obliged to be constructed with elevators.” Castiel puffed as he joined Dean in the doorway.

“Castiel Lawrence.” He said handing the faux-sangria to Leslie who beamed at the bottle.

They all shook hands and Paul introduced Leslie to Castiel. Dean was pleased with how things were going. They took places on Paul’s sofa in his remarkably tidy sitting room, leaving the armchair for their host.

Paul called in from his galley kitchenette that he just needed to serve up but the chips and sour cream were on the coffee table. 

Castiel perched awkwardly next to Dean.

“You good Cas?” 

“I am unaccustomed to such social situations.”

Dean gave a hearty laugh, “So am I.”

He looked to his left as Leslie pulled out a compact mirror and tweezers. He proceeded to pluck two hairs from between his eyebrows.

“What are you doing?” Castiel did his seriously adorable head tilt and Dean sucked in his lip so not to comment.

“I am grooming my eyebrows.” Leslie said perkily, “We can’t let ourselves go, Castiel.”

“Dean?”

“Yes Castiel.”

“Would you like me to...”

“No!” Dean took a calming breath. Perhaps this was not going to be as smooth sailing as he hoped. “Paul you need any help in there dude?”

He wondered briefly about the wisdom of leaving Leslie and Castiel, but he popped into the kitchen and took the dinner plates from the counter. 

“So Paul? Leslie?”

“So Dean? Castiel?” Paul countered. “I don’t know man. We are getting to know each other again. But I don’t know, maybe. He is not the same guy, but maybe he is a better guy. What about you?”

“Cas is staying.”

“Good. You guys finding your feet?”

“More than our feet.” Dean confessed. 

“Budgie I’m hungry.” Leslie called.

“Budgie? Budgie? Seriously?” Dean snorted.

“My brother, the one with my nephews, you know, is Peter? I met Leslie when I was out with Peter and you know the nursery rhyme?”

Dean looked blank.

“Two little dickie birds sitting on a wall, one named Peter the other named Paul? What man nothing? What kind of childhood did you have?”

“You have no idea. That one wasn’t in Sam’s book of rhymes.”

“Ok, I’m not even going to ask why only Sam got a book of rhymes. So Leslie decides I am a ‘little dickie’. Not so cool. By the third date I had registered my objection and the belittling of my cock, so I became Budgie.”

“Does Leslie have a nickname?” Dean asked as Paul added a pile of cutlery to his four plates.

“Continuing our size disparity theme... Bear.”

“You crack me up. Don’t let Cas hear, you’ll give him ideas.”

“What are you afraid you’ll end up a hummingbird or a goldfish?”

“Naw man, Cas has a wide range of knowledge who knows what he could decide on.”

They carried the plates and pot of chili in to the others. 

“Therefore an ice cream float at four dollars is a significantly worse investment than a strawberry milkshake for $3.80.”

“You sure know a lot about Biggersons.” Leslie said.

“I have made a study of them.”

“Are you a food writer Castiel?” Leslie asked.

“No. I have only recently developed an appetite...”

Dean interrupted “Castiel had a thing for Biggersons food recently. He loves a good burger.”

“Wouldn’t say no to a juicy meat patty.” Paul commented as he added the rice bowl and side of refried beans. 

“Place in St Louis, used to have the best bacon cheese burgers in America. It’s gone now.” Dean sighed.

“This is good.” Castiel said through a mouthful of rice, chili and sour cream. 

“Glad you like it.” Paul raised his bottle in salute.  
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Driving home after an evening of good food and stories exchanged, Dean felt quite smug about how well things had gone. Castiel had been sociable, if judged against angelic levels of sociability. Dean had covered for a couple of minor slips. Paul was peeved about being on desk and driver duty until his arm healed, but once he had indulged in a moan he told them a few crazy impressive fire fighter stories. Dean had supplied a couple of heavily edited hunts. Leslie drank the whole bottle of Sangría Señorial. 

“Leslie asked me...”

“Cas. Seriously man. I don’t think I want to know this.”

“But Dean, why did he ask me about being a queen?”

Dean gripped the steering wheel as if it had a chance of escaping. “What did you say?”

“I told him I was certain that my body contained no royal blood but that you were descended from the Kings of ancient Israel.”

Dean snorted and slapped a hand onto Castiel’s thigh. “Seriously man, don’t ever change. And if anyone asks you again about queens and our relationship tell them to go suck a lemon.”

“Go suck a lemon.” Castiel practiced.

Dean cracked up.

A few miles out from Lebanon, Dean’s curiosity got the better of him, “So, Cas? Whaddid you and Leslie talk about while Paul and I served up?”

“It was a strange conversation. Leslie’s references were difficult to follow.”

“Examples?” Dean turned his head slightly to smile at Castiel who was looking thoughtful.

“Well he said he understood that you and Paul would not have lasted because you are both ‘The Tops’ and I was confused because I understood that compliment to be outdated slang. I agreed that you were ‘The Tops’, the best. But then it seemed to refer to sexual relations, and I remembered how the pizza-man had the pretty female sit on top of him. Do you think that Leslie meant that?”

“Ah, no.” That was all Dean could manage to say. Horrified, was a good description of his reaction to the conversation.

“Then he asked me if you were versatile, and I agreed wholeheartedly. You are very versatile Dean, your adaptability to any situation has saved your life and the lives of others on many occasions.”

“Cas, I don’t think you understood...”

“Then Leslie made some very intimate comments.” 

Did Castiel just blush adorably? He was petrified to ask. “More intimate than who is top and if I am versatile about it?”

“Leslie informed me that he is something called a total bottom. I asked him to explain.”

“Oh God.”

“Dean!”

“Right sorry. Oh Fudge.” Dean corrected his blasphemy.

“He said Paul uses too much lube, that he likes to feel it, but Paul says you can never have too much lubrication, and that three fingers is more than enough before penetration, and that the best sensation in the world is when Paul rims him after sex.”

“What did you think when Leslie was telling you this?”

“I believed he was what you call over sharing, but he also seemed very happy to be re-united with his partner and I believe he was reliving their actions in the retelling.”

“Is that it?” Dean knew that they were going to have to have a talk about sex. He really didn’t want to. He wanted it just to happen like their kissing and the making out. 

“I believe I would like it just as much.”Castiel admitted but seemed uncomfortable in saying it. Dean wondered if it was because of his own hang ups, or if maybe Cas was concerned to ask Dean for what he wanted from him.

“You would?” Dean scrubbed a hand over his open mouth. The turn off for the bunker was ahead.

“Dean, I want to easy your worries. I took great notice of Leslie’s advice and I will ensure to thoroughly lubricate you and my cock before I enter your body.” Castiel said decisively.

Dean was speechless. How had he automatically become the bottom one in the bedroom? 

Still he didn’t object. When he had imagined sex with Castiel and earlier with Paul, his mental imagery had been vague. There was lots of sweat and grinding and coming, but he realized he hadn’t visualized penetration. Had his mind shied away from it? He had not had a fantasy of taking Castiel in that way. However thinking of Castiel fucking him, of being filled and driven into by Castiel’s hard cock, made his groin clench up and own arousal skyrocket. Now if they could just make it to the memory foam before his appetite led him to try and devour Castiel’s pink lips then that would be a win.

Dean’s hands twitched to grab into the sleeves of Castiel’s shirt. They shook as he locked up Baby. Castiel walked in front to the bunker door and as Dean extracted the key from his pocket, he was assaulted by a bruising kiss. 

“Fuck Cas, give me a minute...”

Castiel tasted of spice and Heineken and boiling desire. The painful moan that broke his lips almost stalled Dean from his task but then they were inside.

Clothes flew in every direction. Dean barely had a chance to bolt the main door and flick on the lights. Pearlized plastic buttons from Castiel’s shirt pinged when they hit the floor or wall or wherever. Dean heard the material of his under vest ripping as Castiel pulled it over his head. Their boots were gone before the hallway, jeans shucked outside their bedroom door, Dean made the final act by wrenching down Castiel’s briefs with both hands, gasping to find the ex-angel rock hard. Castiel responded by biting down on Dean’s shoulder, marking him with his teeth. Then Cas sank to his knees scraping his teeth over hipbones and sucking a hickey into Dean’s sensitive inner thigh.

“Good, Cas, good” was all he could mutter as encouragement.

Dean walked backwards with Castiel’s hands on his shoulders. He allowed the frenzied urgency to push him into the mattress. Castiel was on top of him, straddling his stomach, his cock neglected behind that body, straining and hitting Castiel’s back. Then there was side mouth and top lip kissing. Dean nipped at Castiel’s nose. Then Cas sucked at Dean’s bottom lip. Dean clawed at the sheets under his hands, not caring that he was turning into a gooey mess under Castiel’s attention and touch. Cas kissed his eyelids and puffed the word “Lube?” into Dean’s ear.

“Off” was the only way Dean could manage to tell Castiel he needed to move. He twisted sideways pulling the beside drawer out awkwardly with an upside-down hand. He passed over the astroglide and a condom.

“I am not diseased.” Castiel sounded mightily insulted, “Are you giving me this to protect my health?”

“What? No.” Dean stumbled, “I haven’t... I wasn’t with Paul and it’s been a long time...”

“It’s OK Dean,” Castiel said as he flung the condom vehemently across the room, “I want to feel my skin on yours.”

Dean gulped and nodded. He thought for a second he had ruined the mood and was internally kicking himself when Castiel made his own cockblocking request asking if Dean would prefer to get on his hands and knees as anal copulation was reputedly less painful in that position. Dean almost called it a night, but when he didn’t turn over, Castiel took each of Dean’s ankles in turn and pushed his legs back, straining Dean’s thigh muscles with a pleasant tightness. Then he took Dean’s only half hard cock in his hand and applied pressure to the base. Dean’s body responded to the touch. He looked up to see Castiel’s mussed hair between his legs before that mouth wrapped around his ball sack and sucked. Freaking Glory. Dean didn’t know if he said that aloud. Then it was all Castiel. His lips around Dean’s head, tongue laving his slit, taking him deeper, freaking humming around Dean’s cock, while his hand continued to squeeze at the base with just the right amount of pleasure to keep Dean on edge. When he could form semi-coherent thoughts he told himself that Castiel needed this, that his grace had been ripped from him, that Naomi and Metatron had stolen Castiel’s will and that he needed to be in control now, but mostly Dean was a cauldron of sensation and fucking need.

Castiel’s lubed up fingers marked a path from Dean’s balls to his hole. The lube was lukewarm, cold only for the heat from Castiel’s burning digits.

“So beautiful.”

Dean snorted.

“No! You are. It is. All along here...” Castiel’s tongue traced the path of his fingers and then tapped a circle around Dean’s entrance. “... and this bud, this furled skin... I remade its perfection....” The finger pressed and breached him. “... I counted the whorls and reformed their pattern....” Castiel leaned forward, a drop of perspiration fell from his forehead before he licked the underside of Dean’s cock.

Dean was lost. He could hear Castiel’s voice praising his body but not the words. The cadence and the reverent tone made Dean’s skin tingle all over his body as if a low electric current was running through him. 

Contact was broken and Dean heard the squeezing of the lube bottle. There was a second finger but Castiel distracted him with his teeth grazing over the hickey on his thigh.

“Cas.” Dean croaked.

“Yes Dean?”

Dean didn’t know. “You. Here.”

“I am here.” Castiel took the tip of Dean’s cock back into his mouth, hollowed his cheeks and sank down in one motion. Cas’s mouth was soft and warm. The inexpert, just tipping the wrong side of pain, scrape of teeth made Dean grind his own pearly whites.

“Cas, you gotta cover your teeth, man.”

If Castiel heard him, he didn’t respond. Three fingers pushed lube into his passage. Dean wanted to tell Castiel to curl up his digits like Paul had done when he had fingered him, but he pushed Paul out of his head and went with the sensation of Cas stretching him. Then the fingers were gone and Castiel’s lips were gone.

Dean opened his eyes to see Castiel covering his length in lube and then lowering his body so that the glistening cock was gone from his line of sight. 

“Dean?”

“Mmpf.”

“You good?”

“Kiss?”

Castiel moved between Dean’s legs. Dean’s thighs protested the strain. Cas’s lips hovered over his. Dean’s tongue licked up, tasting the lube in Castiel’s mouth and vowing to buy flavored the next time.

“You gonna?” Dean’s hand found Cas’s slicked up boner and gripped him as if testing for readiness.

Sliding back down, Castiel scissored Dean a final time. 

“This body, your body, Dean, I know every piece. I can no longer see your DNA, your chemical bonds, the blood rushing through your veins, but I remember. This body is my charge,” Castiel pushed into Dean on the word charge.

Dean’s breath was taken. It was almost too much. It burned and forced its way inside him. A nanosecond flash of Hell was wiped away by Castiel’s praise, “So good Dean. I knew it would be. Feels so good. My body in your body, connected, together.”

Dean gritted his teeth, not so good until his body adjusted. “Move Cas!”

Castiel pulled all the way out, and Dean’s eyes widened at the sudden emptiness. Cas didn’t believe that was all there was to the act, did he? It turned out that he didn’t because as Dean parted his lips to protest, Cas rammed back into him, causing Dean to bite down hard. 

“Fuck Dean, so good.”

The profanity from the former angel went over Dean’s head, as he set a punishing pace, freaking pistoning him. Then finally Castiel flexed his hips changing his angle, catching Dean’s prostate. 

“I apologize, Dean.” Dean’s mind was blowing.

“I was caught up.” Dean’s prostate was hit again.

“I failed to connect here,” and a-freaking-gain.

Dean literally saw stars. He reached for Castiel wanting to touch him. Cas’s palms pressed down on his. They pushed their hands into each other’s palms. Castiel’s balls drew up. He was muttering incomprehensible sounds now, maybe Enochian, maybe just noises. Dean clenched around Castiel with his legs, with his muscles, as Castiel came, filling him with hot come, coating his insides with part of his essence.

Castiel sagged forward, held up, it seemed by only their connected hands. He uncoiled the fingers of his right hand from Dean’s left to wildly jerk Dean off, giving that final push Dean needed to spill like a fountain. The sight made Castiel smile, “Perfect.”

Dean flopped back on the pillows as Castiel pulled slowly out. He prepared to steel himself to move to the shower but Cas’s mouth was back down there, cleaning him, rimming his gaping hole, then pushing back in leaking come. 

“I like you filled with me. I like that this...” Castiel drew his pointer finger along the inner seam of his rim, “... is in you.”

Castiel used his left hand to lower Dean’s aching legs and then coming alongside him used the middle finger to rob a lingering spot of come from Dean’s foreskin. He crawled up the mattress and offered the two marked fingers to Dean’s mouth. This was fucking dirty sex. Dean was solidly impressed and turned on in ways he just hadn’t been expecting. He opened his mouth accepting the long digits and the salty bitter taste of their combined spends. He sucked on then, laved them as if it was Cas’s cock he was blowing.

Cas’s pupils darkened, he stuttered, “Dean, Oh I’m...”

Dean pushed against the fingers with his tongue telling Cas to withdraw, and he did. He lifted his head, catching Castiel’s bicep with his arm, pulling him down. “Spit licked rimming another night, OK?”

Cas nodded before Dean pressed their clammy foreheads together.

“It was good?” Dean heard the tremor in the question.

“You couldn’t tell?”

“I have only observation for reference. It was my first experience.” Castiel turned his head breaking eye contact.

“Popped your cherry good then.” Dean laughed, “Come on Cas, shower time.”

“You are going to wash me out of you.” Castiel pouted.

“Come on Mr. Adorable Pouty Lips.” Dean’s body ached as he began to move across the bed. He rolled his eyes at the continued mini-sulk, “When I stand up it is gonna leak out. It’s a bit gross.” Dean pulled at Castiel’s arm.

“I wish there was a way to keep it inside you.”

Dean kept shtum about butt plugs. He didn’t rule it out for future experimentation, but he didn’t want to give Castiel ideas. He must have made an expression showing he was assessing something because he was called out as he pulled the reluctant man towards the showers. 

“You have thought of a way.”

“If you were all mojo’ed up you could probably just make it stay there.” Dean covered.

“That would be an abuse of Grace.” Castiel was grinning when Dean craned his neck round, “but a good one. You were pleasured Dean? Weren’t you? I was. It was. We...” Dean saw doubts surfacing in Castiel’s baby blues. “... I hurt you. You cried out in pain.”

“Fuck it Cas. It was all good. OK? You gotta ride through the pain to get to the prize.” Dean for sure was not telling Cas that he was aching now. It was gonna be an uncomfortable drive in the morning. 

“OK. I thought it was good.”

Dean had enough of the word ‘good’ for the night. He turned on the faucet and as the water steamed up, he dragged Castiel into the shower with him, “Good? It was freaking awesome.”

Castiel’s eyes shone with something more than pleasure and pride. He sucked a mark under Dean’s ear as the water poured over them. “Love you” he mouthed into Dean’s skin.

Dean tensed and swallowed hard. “Come ‘ere.” He didn’t say it back, couldn’t say it, but he showed Castiel by pulling him tight and then cleaning him devotedly with gentle circles of wiping flannel and shower wet kisses.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


	16. I've Got You Under My Skin

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

“Cas?”

“Yes Dean.” Castiel stopped his progress down the hospital corridor and put his hands in the pockets of his aviator jacket.

“You know when we see Sam.” Dean huffed. “I would prefer if you didn’t mention you know. And you can have the chair today.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, “You don’t want to tell your brother that we have consummated our relationship.”

“Geez, Cas man, no one uses the word consummated.”

“You do not wish me to speak about our copulation with Sam.”

A passing nurse’s face collapsed into incredulous humor.

“That will be our second day as main topic in the nurse’s gossip league.”

“I do have a concept of privacy, but I believe Sam would be pleased for us. I have heard him ask if you had gotten any, when you returned late to a motel room.”

“This isn’t some throw away. Not a one night stand…” Dean tried to make Castiel understand.

Castiel moved forward so that their faces were almost touching and he could feel Dean’s body heat. “It was our night, our union, and if you want to keep our joining private, I can appreciate and agree. Dean, I meant everything, profoundly.”

Dean nodded and bit his lip, “Me too.” 

Castiel was pleased. It was close enough to ‘I love you too’. He entered Sam’s room with a cheek splitting grin. That combined with Dean’s almost totally concealed gimp walk led Sam’s freaky brain add two and two together and come up with sixty nine.

“Welcome to the family, Cas.” Sam winked.

“Thank you?” Castiel tilted his head at Sam.

“You’re welcome, bro.” Sam pointed at Dean, “Had fun?”

“Bitch. I will hide your fricking dongle if you say one more word, just one.”

“Jerk. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

“Like your wedding?”

“What wedding?” Castiel asked as he took Dean up on his word and snagged the chair.

“Jerk move. Dick-head. I was under a spell, Cas. It doesn’t count and it was annulled.”

“Who’d you marry? Was it a ‘fugly’?” Castiel asked, glancing at Dean as if checking he had pronounced fugly correctly.

“Becky Rosen.” Sam gave a giant sigh.

“The prophet’s girlfriend?”

“The one and only, now can we not talk about this. I have news.” Sam tilted his head towards three bottles of meds on the side locker. 

Dean picked them up attempting to pronounce “Neoral Thymoglobulin and Neupogen”. 

“Two immunosuppressants and a bone marrow stimulant.” Sam explained. “They got my bone marrow biopsy back. They can’t explain how, but I have aplastic anemia. They said it could have killed me and the lab was confused by my blood composition. Figures huh?”

“These meds will fix you up?” Dean rattled one of the tubs.

“I’m not permitted to get ill. If I run a fever or any crap, I have to come back. They’ll put me on anti-virals. The fatigue is going to linger until my bone marrow is back to acceptable normality. I’m not meant to do anything strenuous or that puts me in danger of getting injured or falling, because I could hemorrhage again. So that makes me a fricking awesome hunter.” Sam’s bitchface was matched by the dripping sarcasm of his tone.

“You are on research duty, bro.” Dean’s relief that Sam would get better showed in his tone, “Wait. Did you say have to come back? Are you getting sprung?”

“Tomorrow, Dean.” Sam’s dimples made an appearance. “Two more transfusions to keep the count up and Drs Larson and Keelson want to see me on their morning rounds.”

“Peachy.”

“Dean.” Castiel looked up, “We will need to visit the grocery store for Sam’s green foods.”

“Cas, not the grocery store, OK?” Sam glared at Dean, “Make Dean go to Whole Foods. What day is it?”

“Friday.”

“Farmers’ markets tomorrow morning. You can go to Smith Center or Concordia, Dean. I’ll ask the nurses if there is one here, but I am not getting in the impala unless there are at least two salad bags and decent organic vegetables in the back.”

“I hear you, food Nazi.”

“What have you been eating?”

“We had eggs and toast and bacon and pizzas.” Castiel supplied.

“See. Freaking malnutrition. Don’t you know Cas is human now, he needs vitamins?”

“We’ve been busy. You know I’m gonna cook him, and you, something decent. And we had a home cooked meal last night.” Dean pointed out.

“With Paul and his partner?” Sam grinned his troublemaker face again, “How was that?”

“Really good, Thank you.” Dean said pointedly.

“Cas?”

“It was. Dean is correct. Paul and Leslie were very hospitable and Leslie was very informative about their relationship.”

“He was?”

“Cas and Leslie had a chat which will never be referred to again.” Dean glared.

“Oh. The top and bottom thing is included in the private?”

Sam almost choked. 

“Well you asked for it Sammy. You can’t go poking your nose in and then complain about the answers.”

“I’m not, not complaining. You guys are priceless.” Sam got control of his mirth and turned to Castiel, “Dean is right, I don’t want to know.”

“I understand. I am learning the limits of human social acceptability. Leslie seemed to have different standards to the norm?”

“He did” Dean nodded, “Flaming queen” he added for Sam’s benefit. “Leslie is very open about his sex life and his gender identity. It wouldn’t appeal to me, but Paul seems to adore him.”

“You prefer the warrior of heaven type.” Sam was back to teasing.

“Maybe I do.”

Castiel smiled at him tenderly and Sam fake gagged at the schoomp.  
__________________________________________________

 

Never, never again would Castiel take anything Dean cooked for granted. 

The bunker kitchen was a horrible place and the ‘beginners’ recipe for Moussaka was now his personal nemesis. 

He had found a tattered well used cook book in another one of the taken-out-of-storage boxes that Dean and Sam had moved to the bunker. He wanted to make something to welcome Sam home. Dean had gone to collect his brother, and make an additional run to Whole Foods for everything they had no doubt forgotten during their morning run.

The book was clearly Dean’s. There were notes in a younger hand on the margins. The most splattered page was the Meatloaf one and Castiel thought he would make it for the Winchesters, but they had no breadcrumbs, and Castiel was uncertain of how you transformed a loaf into crumbs successfully. There were no instructions. It was obviously something you were meant to know. He had flicked a page back and seen the Moussaka recipe. They had all the ingredients, almost. The dish was to be made with ground lamb, but the author had a postscript of optional changes to the ingredients, including using ground beef. That was good, because Dean had purchased pounds of the meat, freezing it up in separate bags. 

The main problem was, even though it was a book for beginners, it didn’t tell you whether you should peel the onions and garlic but after due consideration, Castiel did. It said to preheat the oven to 375 degrees, but not how long to pre-heat it for, so Castiel turned it on before he began chopping. 

Kitchen knives were evil. He nicked his finger with Dean’s razor sharp chopping knife and nearly took a layer of skin off with the paring knife until he noticed on the propped up page that he was meant to leave the eggplants unpeeled.

Retreating to the bathroom for first aid of Neosporin and two band-aids, Castiel smelled burning. He raced back to the kitchen to find a baking tray smoking in the oven. He remembered the oven mitts but caught the inside of his arm on the corner of the tray. The whole thing clattered to the floor. His arm was marked with a reddened line and it was painful. He found the aloe vera gel and smeared it on his arm, but got some in his eye as he wiped away a tear of frustration. 

He almost gave up. 

He had the salad to assemble, there was the bread, and he could do another one of those frozen pizzas in the well heated oven. It turned out that the dial was on 450 degrees not 375. Castiel cleaned up the mess and himself changing splattered clothes for his khakis and Dean’s long sleeved beige v-neck top. 

He was not going to let a teenager’s cook book defeat him. Dean often listened to music while he cooked so Castiel looked through the old vinyl in the library. There was an attractive cover on the Sinatra long playing record and he put the needle on that one.

To the strains of I’ve Got You Under My Skin, the former angel pan-fried onion and garlic, and added the beef. He watched it turn grey and then start to brown. The recipe said that the flour, stock and tomato paste went in when it was ‘well browned’. There were a couple of very dark brown spots when he added the ingredients and he had to step back when the stock sizzled and spat. Maybe he had the heat too high under the skillet. Can of tomatoes, chopped mushrooms and seasonings went in, and Castiel put the bubbling mix aside. His feet were killing him. He grabbed a bottle of Sam’s ‘frou frou’ mineral water. He sipped while he cooked the sliced eggplant before he hit the next road bump. Who knew that when you added milk to flour it formed lumps that were absolutely impossible to get out? Finally as the clock told him he was running out of time, he used the new phone Dean had bought him to Google how to make a ‘roux’. 

He felt a certain sense of achievement as he layered his eggplants and meat and covered the whole dish with his milk, egg, and cheese sauce.

By the time he heard the door he had the long table set for three. There was a bowl of green salad, a plate of sliced bread, a trivet for his Moussaka and beers at each place setting.

The look of joyful surprise on Dean’s face made all his efforts, and his throbbing burn, worth it. 

Sam dropped his duffel in his room. Dean came over and wrapped an arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “Did you cook Cas?”

“I have made an attempt.”

“What you got for us?”

“Moussaka, Dean, I found the recipe in an old cookbook of yours.”

“It smells… I was going to say divine.” Dean gave a cringe.

“Divine is a compliment that I hope the flavor lives up to.” Castiel pulled up his sleeve, “I burned my arm.”

“Jeepers, Cas. That looks icky. Did you put anything on it?”

“Aloe vera. When will it fade? It hurts like a bitch.”

“Burns do. You’ll need to keep putting on the gel. You’ll be good as new soon.”

“I won’t have a scar?”

“No. Not for that. Poor baby,” Dean grinned and bent over blowing a boo-boo on it.

“Dean I am not a baby.” Castiel objected, “But your cool breath is very comforting.”

“I go to my room and when I come back you are eating Cas’s arm. Honestly Dean!” Sam sighed exaggeratedly.

“Cas burned himself making our meal. A little sympathy.” Dean looked at the table. “Can you have a beer with your meds?”

“One won’t hurt.” Sam replied and picked up his bottle. “Can we help Cas?”

“No thank you Sam. I am ready to serve.” Castiel retreated to the kitchen and brought out his main feature.

“I don’t think that dish has ever had anything except Lasagna in it.” Sam said.

“No no no, Sammy, you are having a memory failure. Cottage pie? Ham and Chicken Bake?”

“Stop boasting Dean.” Sam chided and took a bite from the portion Castiel had served up. “Oh. Oh Castiel. This is good. Dean you gotta taste it.”

“There are vegetables in it.” Dean’s eyes focused in on the eggplant and mushrooms.

“Yes Dean. I cooked them all.” Castiel responded as he took the final third for himself.

Dean didn’t speak until his fourth forkful. Castiel waited but was happy to see Dean hadn’t refused to consume it. “Freaking awesome man.”

Castiel beamed at him.

Sam cleared his throat. The others looked up. “Just next time, ahem, wash the leaves.”

Sam was holding up a salad leaf with a spider dangling from it.

“Extra protein, Sammy. Eat it up, will make you grow big and strong.” Dean leaned back in his chair and laughed at the horrified bitchface.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

They fell into a routine over the week. Sam rose late and retired early. He was fussy over his food and almost neurotic about taking his pills at exactly the same time each day. He was tired and cranky. Castiel and Dean tried to give him space and not fuss over him too much. Castiel offered to join Sam on his afternoon walks in the surrounding woods, feeling that maybe he had been neglecting the taller man. However Sam refused. He explained that they weren’t pleasure strolls, rather prescribed exercise to get his strength back and spend time in sunlight. After a second beer on Tuesday night he bitched to Dean that he would prefer to be running but he wasn’t up to it and if he tripped on a tree root it was seemingly the end of the world according to his physicians.

The atmosphere was different with a third person in bunker. Dean was less demonstrative. He was less accepting of impulsive touches, especially in Sam’s presence. Kisses in the corridor were allowed. Embraces in the kitchen were permitted. Making out on the sofa after Sam had gone to bed was welcome, as was intimacy in their bedroom. It took Castiel a few days to adjust without a terrible stab of rejection when Dean turned his face away or held up a hand to halt Cas.

On Thursday night Castiel reclined, curled under Dean’s arm for their delayed viewing of The Empire Strikes Back.

Sam was in his room, so Castiel was enjoying walking his fingers along Dean’s skin under his shirt.

“Dean, do you think I should avoid other former angels?”

“I don’t know Cas. They are an unknown quantity really. I suppose like people, some are gonna like you, help you, or need your help, and some are evil sonsabitches.”

“So should I try and help? I mean I know a lot, but there is so much I don’t know.”

“You’re doing good Cas.”

“But I have you to help me. They have no one.” Castiel sighed. He noticed Dean had paused the movie.

“Why not take each ex-angel as they come? Judge each one as an individual.”

“Yes. We are all individuals now.” Castiel felt the weight of those words. The silence in his mind, the absence of the celestial wavelengths, was lonely and bleak. His former brethren must be finding it desolating. Castiel hid his face in Dean’s shoulder.

“Hey, Cas, you OK?” Dean stroked his hair, messing it up again.

“I have you.”

“I guess you do.” Dean admitted.

“I need you too Dean. If you weren’t here, if you had sent me away, I don’t know if I could have continued.”

“Hey this is meant to be Han Solo and Luke Skywalker night, not sugar coated click flick.”

“I’m sorry, I wanted to thank you.” Castiel looked up and saw Dean’s green eyes shining with emotion. 

“Well don’t. That’s what family means. We are there for each other.”

“Can I say something?” Sam spoke up. He was leaning against the wall. 

Dean pulled his body out from under Castiel. “Geez, Sammy, give a guy a warning.”

“That’s what I want to say.” Sam set his shoulders. “I’ve seen you when you think I’m not looking and it takes some getting used to, but… wait Dean, I’m gonna say this… It is making me really uncomfortable how you are pushing Cas away when you are around me.”

“What?” Dean gaped.

Castiel gave Sam a grateful look.

“Dean, I’ve seen you wrapped in a state of undress over waitresses from coast to coast, my delicate mind can cope with you and Cas touching each other.”

“Thank you Sam.” Castiel intoned.

“Cas, I’m not giving license to make out next to me on the sofa or have me find you both in the library in flagrante over my books.”

“I understand, Sam. I think Dean and I can compromise. Dean?”

“Yeah, yeah, now can we end this frigging awkward talk and get back to Han and Leia.” Dean pressed play and turned up the sound.

“I’m going back to bed.” Sam spoke to Castiel. “There’s a pot of tea in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

“Good night Sam. Sleep well. Thank you.”

“Humph.” Dean grunted, “Did you gang up on me?”

“No.” Castiel was shocked, “we did not.”

“OK. But he is right. I’m not tongue dancing in front of him.”

“How about cuddling?” Castiel asked molding his body into Dean’s and wrapping his arm around his partner’s shoulders.

“I can do that.” Dean answered and used his arm to pull Castiel in tighter.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“So where is it?” Sam said when Dean carried sandwiches and Castiel followed bringing a pot of coffee into the library.

“What Sammy? I swear you get more cryptic every day.” Dean teased.

“I was waiting for you to show me Cas, but now I am scared it is somewhere only Dean should see.”

Castiel wondered if Dean was right about Sam being deliberately cryptic because he hadn’t a notion what he was referring to.

“Come on. I give up. Is it on his ass?” Sam guffawed.

“Sam!” Dean banged Sam’s sandwich down in front of him, “What the freaking hell are you rabbiting on about?”

“His tattoo, Dean. Where is it?”

Dean went pale and shot a look at Castiel. 

“You did get him one? I thought one of the mornings before visiting hours or when he went off on his own. Dean? Goddammit Dean, he is an open meatsuit!”

Castiel’s vision when dark. He stumbled to find a chair. Sam was correct. He was a meatsuit waiting for a demon. This body, it wasn’t his vessel any longer, it was his own body, and like any unprotected human he was open to possession. He looked around the room as if he expected Crowley to appear at any moment.

“Cas, Cas, come on man. Look at me.” Dean clicked his fingers in front of Castiel’s eyes.

Castiel blinked. “Dean.” His voice was breathy.

“It’s OK, it’s alright, we’ll fix this.” Dean grabbed his shoulder and held him, “Sam crack open that laptop of yours and find us a tat parlor. Not some grotty crap place either.”

“There isn’t exactly Trip Advisor for getting inked.” Sam muttered but he opened up the computer.

“Leslie,” Castiel said and Dean looked confused, “His eyes are tattooed.”

Sam made an incredulous noise.

“Guyliner.” Dean said simply.

“Maybe he could recommend an establishment?”

Dean had already pulled out his phone and was tapping a message to Paul. 

Sam was reading a very disturbing story aloud about a tattooist in Wichita who was found to be inking clients up with Chinese swear words, when Dean’s phone alert sounded.

“Tat’n’brand in Junction City. Look’em up Sammy.”

After some research Dean made a note of the parlor’s contact number. Castiel didn’t understand why the research had extended to tax returns, street camera feeds, and building permits, but Dean and Sam were certainly thorough.

“There is a fricking waiting list. Can you credit that? But my charms work over a cell too. We got a cancellation at 3 tomorrow.”

“That is very soon.” Castiel gulped.

“You’re not chicken are you Cas?” Dean teased.

“No Dean. I understand that temporary pain is preferable to the alternative.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Castiel gripped the padded arms of Christine’s tattoo parlor chair with bone crushing pressure. He was thinking of his innocent nonchalance during their two and half hour journey. He had even taken Dean into the Subway two storeys below their destination and shared a meatball sub. The spicy taste was repeating on him now.

Only the warmth of Dean’s presence was stopping him from crying out. Even under the agony of the rotating needles he could feel Dean’s hand on his left arm. He opened his eyes to squint at the well pierced and inked pink haired woman. She wiped away a smear of blood with a circle of cotton held in her blue gloved hand. Then she reapplied the vicious tattoo gun. She paused for a moment, eyeing Dean’s bare chest to compare to the copy she had traced onto Castiel. Once she was satisfied it was exact she resumed her torture.

“Does it always hurt so much?” Castiel asked through gritted teeth.

“Only if you are a baby.” Dean joshed him.

“Sam told me you cried.” Castiel shot back.

“I did not, that bitch.”

Christine interrupted, “The skin directly above the heart can be more sensitive for some clients.” Her eyes never left the pattern forming on Castiel’s chest. “If I was placing it higher like on your partner…”

“I am happy with the location.” Castiel smiled through the pain and looked over at Dean, but the hunter was focused on the tattoo gun.

It was disturbing to see his blood seeping out and when Christine grabbed a new wipe, he shut his eyes again for a second. 

“Tell me a story.”

Two voices said, “What?”

“I believe that a story can take a person’s focus away from pain and discomfort. I would like a story.”

“Demanding much,” Dean made a tsking noise. “I can’t freaking wait until you are actually sick.”

“Could you keep still, please Dean?” The tattooist requested. “I need to check the trace is accurate if you actually want the symbol to protect your boyfriend.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. 

She laughed. “You don’t think I have been in the business this long without dealing with a few witches, wiccans, hunters and Carver Edlund obsessives, and no I don’t want to know which group you fall into. I believe Castiel here and I were getting a story to pass the remaining time.”

“Do we get a discount if the story is good enough?” Dean chanced.

“I’ll throw in a pot of balm if you amuse me.” Christine promised.

“How about the time I took Cas to a brothel?”

“No. Dean. I know that story and it is not amusing.” 

“It was freaking hilarious. Or the one about how many burgers you can eat, or about the cat communication skills?”

“Are all your stories about me?” Castiel objected. “Flattering as that is, I want a new one.”

“Yes your majesty, your wish is my command. How about one with a Ghost Ship and a very old lady who had a romantic evening with Sammy?”

When they left Tat’n’Brand complete with aftercare instructions and the free pot of balm, Castiel’s phone rang. He nearly lost it out of his grip as he fumbled to answer. It was Sam wondering how he had gotten on. Castiel achieved the task of putting Sam on speaker. 

“I am now inked up,” he confirmed. “Also I believe I am not to mention Gertrude Case to you.”

“Can Dean hear me?” Sam demanded.

“I’m here.” Dean was choking back a laugh.

“Great Dean. Thanks a lot. Did Dean finish the story? How Bela paid us off and he cashed the lot in…”

Dean leaned over and tipped End Call.

“I prefer my ending.” Dean insisted.

“What was that?” Castiel asked.

“You know the one where Bela turned out be a bi-atch, I went to hell and you gripped me tight and raised my ass out of there.”

Castiel put his hand on that ass and left it there as they walked to the Impala.


	17. Chocolate

Paul was experiencing a pleasant hum. He had been wary of bringing Leslie to a bar but his boy had insisted that he wanted to celebrate with normal people. That is if you could call it normal to come into Geary’s in pink lounge pants, a cream polo and a mint green scarf. Leslie had laughed himself silly at the gaping mouths and googly eyes that had greeted them. Armin, the long time barkeep, had defused any tension by clasping Leslie's wrist in his hand and welcoming him back to Concordia. Then Mr. Anderson, the uncle of the family who had lost their home and dog on the night of the falling comets, had insisted on buying them drinks. Leslie wanted a pineapple juice. Paul suspected that Armin had run to the corner store for the carton he produced after a long disappearance. 

Officially they were celebrating Leslie’s employment by Salina Prime Realtors. Unofficially they were one month back in each other’s lives. Incidentally Dean and Castiel were christening Castiel’s new tattoo. Paul thought it was real cute that Castiel had gotten a matching tat to Dean’s one. He thought Leslie might get a Chinese symbol of their love or a Tweetie bird like budgie with Paul written across it. Leslie Bear was never going to get a matching armband of barbed wire, flames, and fire axes, or his 4th Infantry skull’s head with the four ivy leaves that graced his right bicep. 

Paul was not quite sure what to make of Castiel. He was super intelligent but socially awkward, needing to look to Dean for approval or reassurance. He reminded Paul of a combination of his nephew’s friend Dawson who had Aspergers and his Dad’s cousin Brother Ignatius when he came out of the monastery. At the moment though the dark haired man was anything but a picture of serenity. Castiel was drunk, and not in a 1-2-3-4 Happy Days way. Dean was supporting him under the shoulder and instructing him to put one foot in front of the other on their way back from the restrooms.

“I don’t know how Jimmy wore these shoes, they are fucking awful. My feet hurt Dean! Can I throw the…. Can I burn these shoes?” Castiel was pushed into the chair next to Paul.

“No you can’t freaking burn your shoes, I’m not carrying your ass home.” Dean growled in frustration. “I’m getting you a coffee.”

Castiel ignored him and pulled his shirt open again, ripping away the loose gauze covering his new tattoo, the slurring was getting more obvious, “I’m stotally freeeging human, Look!”

Dean patiently taped the cover back and closed the buttons up. Then pushed Castiel back into the seat.

“He used to be able to drink a liquor store.” Dean muttered by way of apology.

“Deanie Deanie, I wanna Kahula.”

“If you call me Deanie again I’m getting in Baby and leaving your sorry ass here.” Dean grouched but Paul could see Dean was concerned and pretty sober. His friend had only had two Heineken. He had gone to the bar and gotten two Jameson. Paul had drank his but Dean’s sat untouched on the table. Leslie was sitting legs crossed, sipping his juice, seemingly enjoying the show.

“Deeeaan Kahula. Is nicer than the rot gut you and Sammy drink. I’m human now I should have my own drinkie,” Castiel’s body tilted forward, head dropping between his knees, “I don’t feel so good.”

“What does he mean Human Now?” Leslie asked twirling his ankle around.

Dean gave a nervous laugh, “It’s a joke. Not a man, not complete until he had a tattoo.”

Paul narrowed his eyes, there was more to that story, he was sure.

“I’ve got a tattoo Leslie, Look” Castiel told the younger man again, “it’s really cool and it matches Dean’s. I was very sad…. like...” Castiel held up a wavering finger,” … like Lucy when I pulled Sammy’s body away from him….”

Dean’s eyes were like stalks and Paul thought he was preparing for action.

“…Why was I sad? Oh yes. Dean, my Dean, my human Dean, My handprint…”

Paul couldn’t be sure what happened but he thought Dean kicked the leg out from under Castiel’s chair. They went down in a tumble with Castiel apologizing for something to do with bees and walls. 

“OK.” Dean said firmly as he pulled Castiel upright. “He can’t take his liquor. We are bailing. I’m sorry Paul, Leslie. Congratulations on your new job Leslie.”

“Dean do you have Advil and juice at home? He’s going to need it in the morning.”

“Oh we do. I’m just not sure if he deserves them.”

Paul watched Dean drag and support his partner out the door. Leslie moved to pick up the chair Castiel had been sitting on. He moved it close to Paul and sat down curling an arm around the firefighter’s waist. “Was I like that? You know when I was out of my mind?”

“You were ten times worse, Les, but don’t worry babe, you are here now and that is what matters.” Paul rested his hand on Leslie’s arm where it wrapped around his belly.

“I don’t envy Dean.”

“Nor Castiel. He is going to be sick as a dog.”

The following morning brought two text messages. The first was a very eloquent apology from Castiel. Dean’s brought a smile to Paul’s face, _Advil administered but he is cleaning bathroom._

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Castiel stared towards the ceiling of Dean’s room. Their room. 

He had made a fool of himself in Concordia. Over the next two days, Dean had been cool with him. Castiel knew he had said things he shouldn’t have. He wanted Dean to understand that he didn’t know so few glasses of liquor would make him so intoxicated. He just had wanted something to sooth his nerves and take away the strumming anxiety he had felt since getting the tattoo. 

Castiel had apologized repeatedly. It was only when he admitted that he didn’t understand alcohol and would trust Dean to let him know if he was becoming stupid on drink, that Dean had thawed. He gave Castiel a few sentences about the consequences of spilling secrets and the dangers of being intoxicated for hunters. Castiel was chuffed to be included under the title hunter, and gave Dean grateful kisses and renewed his hickey on Dean’s thigh in thanks. 

He closed his eyes listening to Dean’s soft early morning snores beside him. Dean wouldn’t admit it when awake but he was a snuggler. The hunter was on his belly, face turned to Cas’s shoulder and an arm laying across the fallen angel’s chest. The weight of Dean’s arm grounded him. Let his thoughts settle back in the present and in what they had found in each other.

“There are so many places I wanted to show you, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was heavy with regret speaking to the dark room. “If I still had my grace we could have travelled the planet and...”

“Why can’t we?” Dean muttered into his bicep.

“You are awake.” Castiel curved to face his lover. “There are so many places Dean. I wanted to show you them all. The Manuhangi atoll, the view from the Belle Alp, sunset over the Ganges, the migration of the wildebeest, the aurora over Svalbard, looking west towards America from the Cliffs of Moher, dawn breaking over the Great Barrier Reef, the round pebbles of Valsaline Bay in Pula where the stones are smooth and warm...”

Tears poured down Castiel’s face dampening the sheets. He felt the loss of everything he could have given Dean. His gut burned. He was being weak again in front of Dean. He was hopeless.

“You listen to me Cas. I have done nothing but travel since I was four years old, excluding my stint in Hell.” Dean lifted his hand to scrub his face. “Damn I need a shave. Cas, I have seen dawns over Atlantic bays and sunsets over Pacific ones, strange lights in the sky, views from the Rockies and the Mississippi basin. I’d love to travel with you but Cas it is a bonus not a deal breaker. It is a supersize option. We will enjoy it when we do? Hey?”

“Yes Dean.” Castiel replied but he still felt he should be more and be able to do more on his side of the relationship. Dean was giving him so much, what did he have to contribute in return.

“So, would you like to go to the beach?” Dean propped himself up on an elbow.

“Pardon?”

“A lot of the places you listed were by the sea. I know you like to stand on shorelines.”

“You do?”

“Cas, you told me.”

“I did?”

Dean gave a soft chuckle and ducked his head to knock it against Cas’s shoulder.

“You were all fish once.”

Dean smiled indulgently, “Much of my travel has been in the interior states. How about we back up our crap, wave goodbye to Sam’s sorry ass for a few days and go to the sea?”

“Truly?” Castiel felt his mood lift.

“Truly. Is there anywhere you would choose that Baby can take us to?”

“We could go to Short Sand Beach in Oregon. There is reputedly buried treasure there and it has been called Smuggler’s Cove.”

“I’ll pack a salt and burn kit.”

“I do not intend for us to be on a job.”

“I know but I don’t want to be jumped by a fugly smuggler’s ghost while your cock is pinning me to some rocky cave.”

“Dean!” Castiel objected, “There is a beautiful beach and a hike through the trees and the sand is soft under your feet...”

“I’ll bring the army blankets and we can test the sand for softness during sex.” Dean teased as he extracted himself from their comforter and headed for the showers.

“Dean! Clothes! Honestly dude.” Sam’s protest from the hall made Castiel grin. He started to make a list of what he wanted to bring on their road trip to the beach.

In the end the did go to the sea, but not on a mini-vacation, because Dean got a call about a case. Their friend Charlie had a lead on a poltergeist. She would have used her new hunting skills to tackle it herself but she was on the other side of the country at some super important LARPing convention.

Dean called Sam out of the library. 

“Sam we are going to Washington.”

“For the conference?” Sam called back.

“Huh Sam? What are you talking about?”

“The conference. In DC? The Church representatives with members of the Senate and Homeland Security, about all the ‘new people’ who have turned up, many of them seeking sanctuary in church buildings, according to Father Moran from Concordia on the KWCH news. Are you taking Cas?”

“No.” Dean said simply. Castiel stayed quiet. He wondered what the churches thought they could do for the former angels. He didn’t want to go. In fact he was only too glad to be going to the opposite side of the country.

“So where are we going?” Sam asked leaning a hand on the back of a chair.

“You are not going anywhere. Cas and I have a hunt in Steilacoom.” Dean kept talking ignoring Sam’s effort to protest. “Charlie has a poltergeist for us to clear out.”

“Charlie is there?” Sam asked.

“She called Dean. She can’t be there but she is about to contact us on your laptop.” Castiel answered.

Sam opened up Skype and Charlie’s grinning face met his, “Hey Peeps!”

Dean and Sam enthusiastically pulled out two chairs and sat so they could both be seen. Castiel hovered behind while Dean and Sam greeted her. She was dressed in a combination of purple and orange that made Castiel blink. She called Dean her handmaiden but he wasn’t insulted in fact he responded with a ‘My Lady, what can I do for you?”

“First tell me who is the cutie with the Harry in Deathly Hallows hair?”

“That’s Cas,” Sam supplied.

“He needs a haircut.” Dean added.

Castiel pulled on the strands of hair at the back of his neck, maybe he did need a haircut. He moved forward squeezing his hand on Dean’s shoulder and saying “Hello Charlie.”

“Congrats Dean. Dumbledore would be proud.” She said inexplicably and continued, “So Daria my chick side kick, royal consort, and RP Winona Ryder look-a-like, she’s from Steilacoom. Her parents have bought an old new house. Poltergeist I’d say. I ran my search program and it confirmed 97% ‘geist. 3% chance of termites. We’re here in Delaware for the con. Was going to head their way during the summer, still are after LOTR Part Deux Nebraska…. You still coming to Lincoln for the LARPing weekend?”

“Sure are Charlie.” Dean confirmed. Castiel needed to find out more about this but didn’t interrupt.

“But it has escalated. They brought in a priest to bless the house, but it seems to have angered whatever is there. Before the holy water it was all loud noises, boots running up and down the stairs, crashes and banging keeping them awake at night, but now they are or it is moving the furniture. Daria’s mom was trapped in their guestroom for four hours when the closet moved in front of the door and the bed flew upright to cover the window. Will you take it?” Charlie bit her fingernails.

“Piece of cake, darling,” Dean grinned. “Cas and I will head out later today.”

“Sam?” Charlie asked. 

“I’m on desk duty.” Sam twisted his face as if he had eaten something bad. “Think of me as their Abby Sciuto back at home base.”

“Sorry Sam, you don’t measure up,” Charlie got a dreamy look on her face. “mmm Abby you can forensically assess me any time.”

“OK.” Dean interrupted, “Address? Any house details? History? Are her parents going to be there?”

“Daria convinced them to take a weekend away. I’m e-mailing you the details I have. Good luck Dean, and thank you.”

“We’ll stay in touch.” Dean promised. “Come on Cas. Time to get packed. Sam, research duty.” 

Sam give Dean a mocking salute while the older brother made for their supply rooms. 

“What are we getting?” Castiel asked Sam as he rose to follow Dean.

“You need to make up hex bags for the walls of the house, other than that the usual crap, and Cas?” 

“Yes Sam.”

“Don’t pack your favorite clothes. If you wear them the poltergeist will rip them, for certain. It’s Winchester Luck.”

Castiel stretched his legs to catch up with Dean. No aviator jacket or his designer jeans then, maybe he could share some of Dean’s clothes for the hunt. This was his first hunt as human and he was determined to prove to Dean that he could be of help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
>  Chocolate by Snow Patrol...
> 
> "...What have I become? Truth is nothing yet  
> A simple mistake starts the hardest time  
> I promise I'll do anything you ask, this time "


	18. Everyday for us something new

Steilacoom was a scenic town. Dean could see why someone would want to vacation or retire there. The view of Puget Sound was glorious in the June sun. To stretch their legs after their journey Cas and he had walked the Beach Park at sunset. They weren’t on vacation but they had taken off their boots and socks and dipped their toes in the foam of the retreating tide. He had taken Castiel’s hand in his, hoping that was enough to let his angel know that he wanted him to have that, to have the Pacific sunset with sand between their toes. 

Their hotel didn’t have a sea view but they were in town for a job and the Best Value Inn was a palace compared to some of the places Dean had stayed. Dean had collapsed on top of the comforter fully dressed after their stroll, which had come on top of eleven hours behind the wheel, and fourteen the day before. He had slept five hours in Burley Idaho somewhere in the middle. He was going to have to teach Castiel to drive, once he could steal some kind of learner-mobile that could take a few knocks.

That morning in Steilacoom, he had woken covered by a blanket and Castiel. Cas was doing his drooling in his sleep thing. Dean thought it was adorable if a bit gross. It proved Castiel’s humanity. The sleeping alone would have done it, but there was something vulnerable about those damp spots on sheets and pillows that appealed to Dean’s need to offer support and comfort to those he allowed himself to love. Dean tamped down his unease about how well Castiel was really coping with losing his grace. He filed away a note to keep a close eye on Castiel during the hunt.

Fiera Vista, Jackson Street, Mr. and Mrs. Franchitti’s house, was three stories of original settlement home. Bay windows and arched roof with white shutters and wrap round porch. It looked innocuous. It also did not have a poltergeist. It had a haunting. Sam pulled up the reports on Thomas Giles, son of the man who had built the home and much of downtown Steilacoom. Over the cell, Sam informed them how Mr. Giles had died by his own hand in the front parlor after he had lost everything in the Panic of 1907. Castiel turned green when Sam explained how Mr. Giles had slit his own throat with an open razor and his housekeeper had slipped in the substantial pool of blood when she came to call him for evening meal. Castiel apologized for his unexpectedly squeamish stomach. 

They had checked their facts during the day, visiting the museum and taking EMF readings in Daria’s parents’ home. Dean was satisfied that Thomas Giles was their target. After midnight they had begun their dig of the Giles family plot. They had salted and burned the dust and bone corpse before dawn. Dean had wrapped Castiel’s blistered hands when they got back to their room and they had fallen onto the bed together in a heap of grave dirt encrusted clothes. 

Breakfast at lunch hour in a diner by the sea was Dean’s treat as a celebration. Dean had steak and eggs, moaning with pleasure at the perfect soft eggs and angus beef. Castiel had snagged them an outdoor table and seemed more impressed with the sun on his face than the quesadilla he had ordered. 

Their final task was a double check of the house on Jackson. Dean retrieved the key from the obvious plant pot and made his way in for the walk through. He was already thinking of taking the more northerly I-90 back home, breaking their return in Yellowstone, and giving Castiel a night in the national park. Which is why he was slow to turn on the EMF, slow to see the shadow coalescing through the open parlor door, and too slow to stop Castiel from being flung bodily through the air. 

Dean flung salt at the apparition. It broke up and then reformed, but once more left Dean unharmed. Castiel gave a terrible shrill noise of pain as his leg was lifted at an unnatural angle and he was dragged towards the parlor.

“Salt,” Dean called, “Throw your salt.”

But Castiel didn’t hear him. He tried to find purchase with his fingernails in the carpet. Dean shot an iron round into the figure and this time it vanished. He dashed to Castiel, who was a mess of sobbing and holding his dislocated knee.

“Come on, Come on, Cas. We’ve gotta get out of here.” Dean felt like the worst first aider in the world as he took his turn dragging the injured man. Outside on the porch he told Castiel to brace himself and straightened his leg. Castiel gave an animalistic roar. Dean grimaced at the pain he had to inflict but gave thanks to no one in particular that the knee popped back. He was going to have to ice that up. Castiel was going to have to travel in the back seat, with his leg held straight, at least for the first stage of their journey home. This was turning out to be a doozy. Pissed Tommy Giles was still at large and his ghost was frigging angry now. 

“The floorboards,” Castiel hissed, “The blood. It’s an old house, heritage home.”

“Original blood soaked floorboards.” Dean slapped his hand to his forehead. Why hadn’t he thought of them? Now Cas was injured. He ran to the Impala and got a box of rock salt, two iron bars, a pliers and an iron crowbar. “Sorry man, I know you are injured but I need your help.”

“I want to help.” Castiel intoned with determination, “I can move.”

“OK, so I’m going in. I’m gonna salt the parlor. Next I need you in there with me. You got the iron to swing. You don’t have to stand. You use the pliers on any nails we can access. I’ll crow bar the boards up. We push them out the open window, and then will have a bonfire in the garden.”

Plan B was a charm. It was implemented in a house full of crashing furniture, breaking mirrors, and with a skeletal bleeding ghost in the doorway but it worked. Castiel’s hands were bleeding. His grave digging blisters burst but he keep working with the pliers and his iron bar to help Dean lift the boards. While Dean burned them with plenty of gasoline, Castiel fought off the specter with the expertise of an Angel Blade wielder. 

In the Impala, breaking the urban speed limit to avoid the Lakewood fire service and Tacoma PD, Dean looked back to see Castiel staring at his shredded palms. The skin was hanging from his fingers. “Let’s get out of town and onto I-90. I’ll get us a motel and some ice for your knee.”

“Thank you Dean.” Castiel’s voice was low. 

Dean was wondering how Cas was coping with being hurt. A few burst blisters and wrenched knee were nothing. Hell, Sam would have probably gotten himself choked by the fugly, but Castiel was used to being an invincible angel. 

“How you doing Cas? How you feeling?” Dean hated asking how someone was feeling, but he needed to know.

“My hands are stinging and my leg aches. I am thirsty and exhausted.”

Dean tossed back a bottle of water, “Yeah. Happy though? That we got the creep?”

“It went wrong. I should have thought of the floorboards. I should have been more aware when we entered the house. I froze when its freezing grip pulled me down. I didn’t defend myself. I would have died, if you weren’t there. You saved my life Dean.”

“Listen Cas dude, in a hunt we save each other’s lives all the time. That’s what I’ve got your back means.” Dean glanced at Castiel through the rear view mirror to check that he was listening, “I could say you saved my life by swinging for Giles while I lit the pyre. I could also tell you that I’m the hunter with thirty years experience, and I should have thought of the blood on the floor, but no regrets Cas. We are out. We are alive. We ganked it, and we are going home.”

Dean clicked on his music and hummed along to Nothing Else Matters while Castiel tapped the beat on his uninjured leg.

They pulled over once to get ice and Dean strapped Castiel’s leg. He sprayed his hands with antiseptic but didn’t wrap them. 

Making an executive decision Dean pulled into the Comfort Inn in Kennewick. It was early evening but he wouldn’t drive on with his injured partner bundled in the back. He settled Castiel into their queen room and brought back sinful double bacon cheese burgers.

Castiel looked brighter after three burgers. Dean persuaded him that the hotel’s hot tub was a good idea for his leg. The warm water and few long drawn out kisses in the tub soothed both their spirits and their muscles. Dean clicked his back when he got out first and retrieved a couple of soft fluffy hotel towels. Paying that few extra bucks for pleasant beds and laundry softener was worth it sometimes. Dean wanted to leave Castiel when he went into Pasco to hustle some pool, but he tagged along. Castiel stayed out of the way, sipping a long soda and writing the hunt up in the journal Sam had given him.

Richer by $300, and buzzing from the free tequila a very buxom barmaid had given him in hope, Dean walked back to the Impala with Castiel making slow progress beside him. The knee was not as good after a couple of hours on a bar stool.

“You should have stayed in bed.” Dean told him.

“Would you have found it arousing to return and have me laid out for your pleasure?” 

“I could show you how arousing.” Dean teased. 

Castiel was gone. Dean blinked. The guy had a gimp leg, and no angel air miles, where had he gone?

The only possible place was a slender alley between the bar and the hardware store. Dean turned and ducked into the alley. Castiel was bent over a homeless man with a terrier nipping at his pant legs.

“Inias. Inias wake up.” Castiel pleaded.

That was Inias? The guy was filthy, bearded, clad in rags of his angel suit, and had a red dog lead tied around his wrist. Dean sighed, shoulders dropping at the sight of one of the least dick-ish angels brought so low.

“Inias?” Castiel tried again crouching down.

“I’ve lost the garrison. I’ve lost my wings.” Inias cried out in distress. “I can’t go home. They took my shoes.”

Dean looked down. Inias’s feet were in dirt blackened socks. The piebald Jack Russell had pooped next to his foot. 

“Inias? It is me.” Castiel put out his skin torn palm and cupped the other former angel’s cheek.

“Cassie?” 

“Yes brother.”

“Did we all fall? All of us? Were we cast out? I didn’t disobey. I didn’t.”

“All of us, yes. Metatron did it. It was revenge of some sort on Father or the Archangels.”

“But why? We never did anything to His Voice. We fought Raphael.” Inias reached up to take hold of Castiel’s brown outer shirt.

“I don’t have answers.” 

Dean coughed, “What happened to you man?”

“I fell. I guess Cassie did too. I fell on a car parked by the Colombia river. I watched our brothers and sisters fall, and then I was aware of three men watching me. They came closer and I tried to ask them for help. My back was… you know the way our wings burned out on the way down… but they didn’t listen. I reached for my blade, I reached for my grace, but they were too strong. They took everything from me, my vessel’s wallet, my shoes,” Inias swallowed hard, “my dignity.”

“It is not undignified to be overpowered by monsters.” Castiel objected.

Dean raised a hand to Castiel’s back. “I don’t think that is what Inias means.”

“My virginity.” Inias mumbled.

“You were raped.” Castiel gasped in shock. “Inny, have you seen a doctor? Are you healed?”

“No doctor. I found this alley. I found the cardboard here and Doggie found me. I have begged at the corner. A bag lady from West Pasco has shared her cat food with Doggie. Two Salvation Army women bring me soup. They gave me shoes, but two teenagers stole them as a dare yesterday.”

“Dean?”

“Shit Cas. I have a no-dog rule.”

“Dean!”

“Freaking hell.”

“Thank you Dean.”

“Come on Inias.”

Inias had looked back and forth between them during their exchange. He gathered up the slack on Doggie's lead and asked “Where are we going?”

Dean huffed about his upholstery but Castiel promised to clean it. He moaned about using some of his winnings to pay a supplement for an extra fold out cot and a dog. However he did go back to Tri-Cities 24-hour Biggersons while Castiel showered Doggie and Inias napped after his shower, in Castiel’s sleep pants, in a clean bed. 

Inias was a freaking vegetarian. So armed with a green patty and fries for the fussy ex-angel and another round of double bacon cheeseburgers, and a plain hamburger for the pup, Dean returned to the room. 

“What are we going to do with him?” Dean asked wrapped around Castiel’s naked body, ignoring that he was never going to be able to sleep with a dog in the room. 

“Take him to Sam’s doctor. Bring him home?”

“I don’t know Cas. I’m not saying no, but are you sure about bringing him home?”

“I don’t know either. I couldn’t leave him.”

“I know. We will talk with him tomorrow.”

Inias and Doggie were not at all enamored with traveling by Impala. Inias fidgeted and, like a whining child, wanted to know if they were there yet. Doggie howled and had to be allowed out to piss repeatedly. Dean determined that if Sam ever went behind his back and got a dog, he would never ever be allowed to bring it in the Impala. 

They broke their journey at a dog friendly, Dean called it Dog Stinky, motel outside Brigham City Utah. Castiel and Inias went all buddy buddy on him in the adjoining diner. Then Dean realized Castiel was protecting Inias. He took the outer seat. He stood between him and a couple of truckers when Inias shrank back. 

“So,” Dean asked, “Was Castiel your superior in the garrison?”

“For a time. Anael was our superior. I answered to many angels. Castiel trained me in combat. I was there, with Rachel, and Hester, and Uriel and Zuriel, and Aminiel.”

“Where?” Dean asked mouth full of a buffalo wing.

“At the seventh level Aminiel and I took out Zandrake.”

Dean choked. Castiel jumped up and cracked a blow across his back. The piece of chicken flew out of his mouth hitting the new wal-mart jersey top that a stunned Inias was wearing. 

“Inias, you cannot, you do not mention that to Dean.”

“I apologize Dean. I would not like someone to talk about when Lardoriel fell on the sixth level. I understand.”

“Zand… Zand….” Dean was trying to breathe, but all he could feel was the hot sulphuric breath of Alastair’s hell hound on his face, the drip of the black vile saliva on his cheek, the tearing of the claws… Dean ran. He left the two angels in the diner and dived into his car, which smelled of freaking dog.

Castiel was knocking on the window. “Let me in, Dean, please. I’ll send him away. We can give him some dollars and he can stay in Utah. Please Dean.”

Dean had gotten his freak out under control. He was embarrassed now. He yanked the door open. “Goddammit Castiel. Don’t any of your angels have any notion of boundaries, fucking limits? I don’t need hell slammed in my face. I just fucking don’t. We are not dropping him like a piece of garbage just cause I can’t hold my shit together after all these years. Get your frigging garrison brother and tell him to keep his freaking Doggie away from me.”

Castiel tried to put a hand on Dean’s shoulder but he was shrugged off. Dean stayed in the Impala, breathing heavily through his nose, steadying his nerves, and telling himself he was dumb to panic over a stupid dead hellhound that had used him as a chew toy. 

By the time Castiel reappeared leaning on Inias’s arm, Dean was full of regret for being so hard on his partner. It wasn’t Castiel fault. None of it was, from Dean going to Hell, to Metatron, to the bastards who had raped Inias. 

Contrite and humble he dropped a few sodas out of the vending machine and knocked on the bedroom door. Inias opened it and began to apologize. Castiel had Doggie by his collar at the table. 

“I’m good.” Dean stopped Inias’s tirade of sorries. “I’m dumb. I know Doggie isn’t Zandr… isn’t a hellhound. I know now that you were part of Team Save Dean Winchester, so I guess Thanks Man, have a soda.”

Inias laughed and freaking hugged Dean. What had Castiel taught him during their meal? 

Turned out that Inias had been given a crash course in humanity Castiel style. Home truths like the importance of pie, family and getting inked up, combined with thinking before you speak, shaving, and not angering Winchesters. 

Castiel had called Charlie, Sam and Paul while Inias had eaten seconds.

“You didn’t tell them I was sulking in the car?” Dean asked the most vital question.

“No Dean, you were not sulking, you were recovering from a shock and your location remained obscure.” Castiel perfected his eye roll. “In our haste to leave Steilacoom we had not informed Miss Bradbury of our success.”

“Oh” Dean nodded slowly appreciating Castiel’s thinking.

“Charlie is assisting Sam in creating an identity for Inias. Sam had a nosebleed.”

Dean dropped his can to the table. 

“Wait. He is fine. He just thought we were closer to the bunker and didn’t want you to freak out about his toilet paper plugged nostrils.”

“Okay. You could have led with Sam is fine, but OK. Why’d you call Paul?”

“I told Paul we were on our way back from a job and we had a sanctuary seeker in need of assistance.”

“You did?” Dean looked at Inias who was impassive.

“Paul called Father Moran, who called in a favor with the Cathedral center in Salina. They will take Inias and Doggie.”

“Inias, I was a prick. You don’t have to go into a shelter.” Dean steeled himself, “Doggie too.”

“Dean, I appreciate it. But Castiel and I have just watched the news from the conference in Washington.” Inias pointed at the news channel on the TV, “These shelters are assisting our brethren to become human. I will go. Castiel explained that it is not far from your home.”

“I said I would check with you if we could visit Inias, and maybe if he left Doggie with a friend, he might be able to visit us.”

Dean promised to make sure they visited. He caught Castiel’s side face in a kiss. “Thank you.” He whispered, “I was being a shit. You’re alright Cas.”

“I think you are alright too, Dean.” Castiel twisted his head round to find Dean’s lips.

“I think I’ll take Doggie for a walk.” Inias said gathering the Jack Russell and exiting the room.

“See Dean. I did teach him some propriety.”

“Yeah?” Dean pulled Castiel towards the bed.

“Yes. I explained that when two lovers wish to engage in sex, then the third person should leave the room.”

“Lovers, huh?”

“Those who love one another.” Castiel said pulling Dean’s outer shirt off his shoulders.

“Good description.” Dean smirked.

“Love you Dean.” Castiel nipped his jaw, “Even when you are all stubbly under my lips and your skin is Chevy smelling.”

“I’ll buy you chap stick.” Dean promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Metallica: Nothing Else Matters 
> 
> "....Never opened myself this way  
> Life is ours, we live it our way  
> All these words I don't just say  
> And nothing else matters
> 
> Trust I seek and I find in you  
> Every day for us something new  
> Open mind for a different view  
> And nothing else matters..."


	19. Cochise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early because I couldn't stop writing at the end of the previous chapter :D
> 
> Mutual freak out, Hurt/Comfort warning.
> 
> Audioslave: Cochise
> 
> "I'm not a martyr, I'm not a prophet, and I won't preach to you, but here's a caution;  
> You better understand, that I won't harm your hand,  
> But if it helps you mend, then I won't stop it.
> 
> Go on and save yourself, and take it out on me."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

It was late when they got to Lebanon, too late to drive on to Salina. 

There was a dog in the bunker.

Okay so the dog was sandwiched on the sofa between Inias and Sam. Dean’s brother was in seventh heaven, rubbing the belly of said dog and tickling her nipples. Turns out Doggie was a bitch, much like Dean’s life. Dean revised his life assessment upwards when Castiel brought him some Bing Bongs from the freezer. 

Life was actually pretty sweet. Dean was just being grouchy. He got a Star Trek marathon on a re-run channel. Inias was fascinated by the show and stayed blessedly quiet. The endless questions on the final stage of their journey had been headache inducing. Inias had found his voice and wanted the benefit of Castiel’s experience. Dean hadn’t the heart to correct Castiel’s assertions about having long voicemail prompts and the effective use of lying. He figured Inias would find out what worked for him soon enough.

Sam had taken Inias for a ‘chat’ after their arrival. Dean suspected he was doing his emo-talk gig with the ex-angel. He had to admit that Inias’s eyes were brighter when they got back from the library. Sam had some serious psych-mojo. 

Dean rustled up a late supper of chicken subs. He made a tomato one for Inias. Sam pulled the chicken out of his and fed it to the dog. Dean strategically ignored it.

In bed, Castiel pulled him in close. “You are a wonderful man, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Stop Cas. I just wanna sleep in our own bed.”

“You are. Your soul is stunning in its brilliance.”

“Shuddup.”

“You don’t want me to compliment you Dean.” Castiel sounded a mix of curious and disappointed.

“You can compliment my ass.”

“You have a firm and gorgeous ass that takes my cock beautifully. You have no idea how sensual it is to see your skin stretched around me.” Castiel sneaked his hand into Dean’s shorts and began to stroke him to hardness.

“Fuck Cas.” Dean moaned and pushed his hips back into Castiel’s body. He arched and grinded back as Castiel continued to jerk him inside his shorts.

“You give so much Dean. I can’t tell you how special that makes you.” Castiel used his other hand to release his own hard cock from his shorts. He eased Dean’s pants down and rubbed length up and down between Dean’s cheeks. He ran his hand over Dean’s head, smearing it with pre-come and speeding up his motion. “Yeah Dean, like that, push back, come on.”

“Cas. Fuck. Gonna come. Gonna with you riding my crack.” Dean hissed.

“Good, good, I’m going to… Dean…” Castiel’s come shot over the back of Dean’s shorts, but Dean couldn’t care because he was coming all over Castiel’s hand and his stomach and the sheets.

Both men sagged back, heads hitting the pillows. “Syncro-freaking-nized.” Dean sighed.

“You see Dean, it just took some practice.”

“Is that what we were doing?”

“My knee was too sore for fucking.”

Dean laughed, “Seriously man, you are picking up a dirty mouth.”

“I bow to your superior vocabulary.”

Dean twisted around to face Castiel. He lifted a hand to his lover’s face, “You’re good Cas, are you? After the hunt and Inias and all?”

“Yes Dean. I’m good.” Castiel affirmed.

“Good then.” Dean replied. “Cause you’d tell me if you weren’t?”

Castiel didn’t answer but he tilted his head to take Dean’s lips in a deep kiss.

Somewhere in the bunker a dog barked.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

They ran into Leslie in Salina. Dean was sure that the red scarf tied around the guy’s neck was part of the female staff uniform, but he wasn’t going to judge what someone wore. Leslie was all over Sam and Inias. 

“You have such handsome, and tall, friends, Dean.” Leslie simpered, rubbing a hand on Sam’s chest.

“Leslie Andover, meet Inias Russell and my brother Sam.” Dean pointed at each as a quick introduction.

“Oooh your name is Russell and you have a Jack Russell, that is so cute.” Leslie bent down to rub Doggie’s head.

Inias opened his mouth, and Dean knew he was going to explain that he was named after his dog, so Dean jumped in with a what-a-coincidence comment. Seriously he was going to start giving classes or charging a fee for angel ass covering. Luckily Leslie was on his way to a viewing, but somehow he managed to persuade everyone that it was a good idea for Sam, Dean and Castiel to meet Paul and Leslie that evening at the only half decent bar in Lebanon.

Dean graciously took Sam to Salina Whole Foods while Castiel settled Inias in. Castiel looked disturbed when he met them back at the Impala. 

“Rough leaving him there Cas?” Sam asked from his shotgun seat.

“No. Inias has settled already. He found Debriel, an angel not of my acquaintance but she had been on mission with Inias in the past.” Castiel sighed and stared out the window.

“OK I’ll bite,” Dean called back, “what’s eating Gilbert Grape?”

“Inias wanted to see the Cathedral.” Castiel said.

“And?”

“The priest gave us a tour.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Inias asked for absolution.” Castiel spat out the words. “What does he have to be absolved for? Inias is pure. He always was pure. And who is there, at home, to hear the Father’s prayers? The one that cast Inias out.”

“Perhaps it made Inias feel better.” Sam volunteered.

“There could be nothing that Inias had to confess, and there is no one there to absolve him of any imaginary sins, no one to grant absolution to those of us who do have acts to atone for. I do not see the point of going through the ritual of confession and absolution.” 

“There is healing in action.” Sam tried to explain, “People of faith find comfort in religion, but those of doubt also derive solace from the rites and rituals.”

Castiel didn’t comment. 

Sam changed the subject to that evening’s meet up with Paul and Leslie. Mostly though he talked to himself. Dean was running Castiel’s words through his head. He picked out the words about having things to atone for. He flashed back to their conversation when Cas had gotten out of Purgatory. Was Cas still holding on to all that penance crap?

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Toby’s Bar and Grill was approximately half full of evening patrons when Sam and Paul had their who’s taller face off. Paul won but Sam wanted Paul’s cowboy boot heels measured by an independent adjudicator. 

Sweet sticky BBQ ribs, and a more sober Castiel than the last night in Concordia, led to a real pleasant meal in Dean’s humble opinion. He was a little worried that Castiel wasn’t contributing to the banter, but he knew the former angel was trying to be on his best behavior after the last disaster. 

There was no pie but Sam got a lemon drizzle cake so he was happy. After dessert Leslie wanted to play a drinking game. Paul objected because Leslie was drinking sarsaparilla. Sam threw back his head and laughed in a way that warmed Dean’s heart, and made them both agree.

It was a modified form of Truth or Dare. They each got to ask a question that everyone had to answer but everyone got one pass or veto. Dean eased back into the booth, trailing his hand on Castiel's thigh. He hoped this game wasn't going to trip anybody up, but he was willing to give it a shot for the sake of a sociable night out.

Paul went first: Your longest relationship?

Paul answered his own question with a saccharine grin, “Leslie.”

Castiel answered “Dean.”

Dean answered, “Lisa.” There was a time he couldn't say her name. He glanced to his right. Cas nodded in acknowledgement. 

He waited for Sam to answer Jessica but he used his veto. Maybe Sam was regretting agreeing to play now. Who knew what went on in that noggin?

Leslie answered “Brandon, but another few weeks and you’ll have him beat Budgie.”

Sam wanted to know first kiss but clarified that it could be innocent kiddies’ kiss, as he didn’t want gory details.

Dean smirked and said “Linda under the playground tree in Sioux Falls.”

Sam snorted, “What about Tina in Rapid City?”

Dean corrected himself, “Tina in Rapid City in front of Sam’s elementary school.”

Leslie teased, “I could call that a fail and you got prompted, darling, but you did answer. My buddy Gary's older brother Tim at the teenage disco.”

“Balthie under a full moon.” Castiel said from behind steepled fingers.

Dean never thought. He wondered when that was, but he wasn’t going to ask in case he got told 1614 or 6000BC or three years ago. 

“Amy,” Sam smiled softly, “in her family room.” 

“Freda Williams at the school dance,” Paul grinned, “made me wish it was her brother Matthew. Your turn Les.”

“What were you doing ten years ago? I was in New York exploring my sexuality.” Leslie gave a smug head shake.

Sam nearly spluttered his drink over the table, “I was… let’s see June 2003… exams, Stanford.”

“I was on a mission. It had to do with Thursdays.” Castiel said cryptically. Dean was proud of him.

“I was…” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “… I was in Stanford. Ahem, Sam and weren’t talking, but I’d… ahem… been injured on a hunt and our Dad had an urgent job… so I had to hole up until my ribs healed, so I kind of spied on Sammy for a few weeks.”

“You did?” Sam asked.

“Uh, Yeah?”

“Thanks.” Sam said raised his beer to Dean.

“Ten years ago I was being air-vacced out of Tigrit with a bullet in my stomach.” Paul sucked in his lip. That put a dampener on the game. Sam asked Paul a few questions about Iraq and the dude seemed willing to talk about it. Leslie looked chastened that his own question had brought up Paul’s honorable discharge. Castiel moved closer to Dean and whispered that he had never gotten to ask his question.

“Ask me.” Dean whispered back.

“I was going to ask what everyone would do if they were invisible.”

“I’d braid Sam’s hair.” Dean chuffed.

“I’d watch you sleep.” Castiel replied.

“You have to come up with new material, Cas.” Dean punched Castiel in the arm. Expecting a grin, he was taken aback to see a hurt look cross Cas’s face.

“I’m going for a breath of air.” Leslie announced. 

“I will join you.” Castiel stood up. Dean raised a hand to stop him or apologize for unintentionally hurting his prickly feelings, but Cas was gone.

Dean half listened to some discussion of marksmanship and snipers that Sam and Paul were having. Sam wanted to know the best way to get sand out of a rifle.

“Honestly Sam, where do you store all that knowledge?” Dean snorted.

“You never know Dean. A mark in Death Valley, and you’ll only be too happy I had this conversation with Corporal Kerry here.”

Paul looked around, “Where are Les and Castiel?”

“Gone to stretch their legs,” Dean answered.

“How long ago?”

“A while, why?”

“I’m going to look for them.” Paul stood up.

Dean cocked an eyebrow at Sam. “Protective much?” He asked when Paul had headed for the back of the bar.

“Where have they gone Dean? Maybe we should check?”

Dean rolled his eyes and quirked his lips, but he pulled out his phone to call Cas. It went to voicemail. 

“Come on Sam.” He called as he slid out of the booth. He nearly collided with Paul who was back.

“They are not here. I’m going to look outside.”

It was Sam who found them first, huddled in a door way across the street with a lanky teenager, sharing a joint.

Paul went apeshit.

Dean watched his friend march Leslie to his truck. He heard Paul roar at Leslie with such force that an earth tremor might have pinged on the US Geological Survey. All the time a terrible numbness was creeping up his body. The joint hung from Castiel’s fingers. It’s red tip taunting him like a crossroad demon’s eye. He gripped Castiel’s wrist so tight, the former angel dropped the spliff to the ground. Dean heard Sam’s voice telling him he was going to fracture Cas’s wrist. He pulled Cas to the impala, opened the back door and shoved the wide-eyed man in.

Sam just about made it into the passenger side before Dean drove away. His brother tried to speak to him, Cas said something. It was all white noise.

At the bunker, Dean caught Castiel and manhandled him onto a chair. He spoke for the first time, “Sit.”

Cas nodded. 

Sam trailed him, full of puppy dog concern and “Talk to me Dean.”

First stop the infirmary. Vicodin, Codeine, the two vials of morphine they nearly got arrested stealing, the OxyCotin from when he broke his leg, all emptied into an upturned first aid box. 

Sam’s hand grazed his on the way to his bedroom, but he didn’t stop.

Back of the closest the workman blue jacket on the top of the box. 

“Dean this is insane.”

Dean stopped outside Sam’s bedroom, “Give me your drugs Sam. They did give you pain meds in the hospital?”

“What?”

“Hand ‘em over, Sam.” Dean held out his hand.

“Percocet. I need it.”

“Hand it over.”

Dean waited in a state of frozen suspension. Sam huffed but handed it over. Dean made his way to library and around the other side of the table from Castiel who was still sitting waiting.

Dean pulled back the old map and spun open the safe. The Percocet and emergency morphine went in. All the other items, including the jacket got burned in a gasoline accelerated fire in a galvanized bucket outside the entrance.

Dean made his way to Castiel. He was aware of Sam at his shoulder, hovering.

“Why?”

Castiel licked his lips, “Leslie said it would help my knee ache and take the edge off.”

“Did it?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want another one?”

“Not if it hurts you.” Castiel pleaded.

“Go to bed, Cas.” Dean blew out a long breath. 

“Are you coming?” 

“Just go to bed.” Dean sighed. “You too Sam.”

They both left the room. Dean knew Sam didn’t go to bed. He suspected his brother was cleaning up the mess of scattered items he had left in his wake. Dean took a walk to the kitchen and poured himself a long shot of Hunter’s Gold.

Back in the library he sat there, not feeling much of anything, holding the whiskey like a talisman.

“What the hell happened?” Sam approached Dean like a zoo keeper with an enraged tiger.

Dean knew he probably looked like crap. His face felt like the blood had drained from it, “It’s happening.”

“What Dean? I need more to go on here.”

“It’s 2013. Bobby’s dead. The Angels are in effect Gone. Cas is human. There is probably a geek in a lab somewhere with his Haz Mat suit undone experimenting with old Petri dishes as we speak.” Dean sucked in his bottom lip and gave a tiny head shake.

“I don’t get it.” Sam said softly pulling out a chair to sit beside his older brother.

“Croatoan.”

“Dean, Bobby and I destroyed all that.”

“Cas was smoking a joint.” Dean said with emphasis.

“Talk to me, Dean.”

Dean swallowed hard, “He said no matter what I did we would end up there.”

“Where?”

“2014. Detroit. You.” Dean closed his eyes. Sam was going to make him say it. He would push and push until he got his freaking answers, “Satan.”

Castiel had approached softly so that Dean was unaware of him until he wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders from behind. His voice was deep and level in Dean’s ear, “That future is gone Dean. It was gone as soon as you took Sam back.”

Castiel rocked his body against Dean’s. Sam looked like he wanted to ask more, but he bit his tongue. Dean raised a hand to hold on to Cas’s arm.

“You can’t do that to me, Man.” Dean croaked. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

Castiel let go and spun around to kneel in front of Dean’s chair, “I won’t. I didn’t even like it. It made my mind seem as if it was not my own. I prefer to be in control of my own thoughts.”

“Good” Dean gulped and put his hand on Castiel’s neck. “Good then.”

“You guys OK?” Sam asked.

“Yes Sam,” Castiel answered twisting around, “We’ll be fine.”

“OK so. I’m going to bed.” Sam rose and left them alone. 

“Cas, what did you mean taking the edge off?”

“Dean…” Castiel paused as if he was trying to find the words, “It is difficult to do this, to function as a graceless human. Sometimes I think I can’t go on. Sometimes I remember how peaceful it was in the psychiatric hospital. If I can’t do this would you take me back there?”

“You don’t need a loony bin Cas.”

“You don’t know Dean. I have all these feelings and physical sensations. Sometimes I don’t know what to do with my hands.” Castiel looked down at the backs of his hands as if they were alien features.

“So you thought that being dosed full of psych meds or narcotics was a better choice than telling me that you have been feeling like this.” Dean rocked back in his seat, a sense of disbelief growing.

“The sadness comes and goes. Not a problem when we are together. But it came over me in Toby’s restroom. It was embarrassing. There was no toilet paper. I am an angel of the lord. I was. I felt dirty and soiled and I am so human and weak and I am useless now.”

“Stop that, Cas. Stop beating on yourself. I’m here. You can talk to me.” Dean caught Cas’s hands and held on to them. “Hell, if you feel angry and frustrated take a swing at me. Take it all out on me. I’d prefer a cracked cheekbone than seeing you turn into…”

“I’m not going to hit you Dean.” Castiel hung his head, “How can you want me here, Dean? I don’t know how to stop failing to meet your expectations. I am completely useless.”

“No! Cas. Fuck it Cas. I don’t have any expectations. There are no 10-easy-steps for the Suddenly Human. You are not useless. Stop. Please don’t cry Cas. I’m going to take care of you. How can you think you are useless? I don’t want you for your smiting, or location zapping, or quickie healing. I want you Cas. I need you.”

“I need you too. I’m sorry,” Castiel shifted closer and Dean pulled him up onto his lap in an awkward hug.

“Don’t apologize. Just don’t go down that road. Come to me. Tell me when something is wrong. I’ll listen Cas. We’ll figure it out together. And you aren’t troubling me. I love you man.” Dean bit down on the inside of his lip, “I love you, not your angel BAMF. I love your humor, your kindness, your efforts to do right, your greenness and newness. I love that you are human but I would love you the same as angel. OK. We good?”

“One I love you would have sufficed.”

“Motherfucker Cas, I hung my soul out there…”

Castiel put a finger to Dean’s lips. “As first expressions go, in my limited experience, that was pretty awesome.”

Dean smiled, “I aim to please.”

“I am very pleased, Dean.”

“Good then?”

“Good.” Castiel confirmed and tightened his arms around Dean. 

“No more secrets?”

“I burned the missing oven tray and buried it in the woods.”

“OK.” A small smile broke across Dean’s face. Castiel was so earnest in his confession.

“I used your toothbrush in error.”

“Once?”

“Yes Dean. Inias and I gave Doggie the last of the chicken.”

“Anything else?”

“I don’t regret falling for you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I was.”

“I don’t know that to say, Cas.”

“Don’t say anything.” Castiel eased himself off Dean’s crushed thighs and held out a hand to his partner.

Dean took it and found himself pulled up and in tight for a close lipped gentle caress.


	20. Neutron Star Collision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Less angst more fluff.
> 
>  
> 
> Muse: Neutron Star Collision  
> "I can tell you now without a trace of fear  
> That my love will be forever"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

“Isn’t that a doozy?” Dean asked. 

Castiel quirked his head to the side. It would help if Dean would give him a reference point when making this seemingly random observations. Dean held his phone up for Castiel to take. Putting down his pencil on the text that he was helping Sam to translate, he took the offered cell.

_Sorry Man. On Duty for 4 of Jul. Fireworks = Fires. U got plans this wkend?_

“Do you regret having to cut up the credit card now?” Castiel asked. Dean had maxed out his new card buying fireworks and something called an Inflatable Uncle Sam. The LARPing weekend was the one following Independence Day, and Charlie was coming early. Dean wanted to ‘light up the sky’ and it seemed he wanted an audience. 

“No regrets man. Trust me, it is gonna be awesome. It just means less steaks on the grill and less coleslaw making for Sam.” Dean grinned.

“What about this weekend? Do you want to meet Paul and Leslie?” Castiel wondered if Dean would want to after the last time. He suspected that inviting them to his fireworks display had been a way to meet up after the hashish incident but with other people present. 

“Sam thinks he has a lead in the mysterious deaths in Ohio.” Dean sighed. “We should go investigate. You can try out your new Fed suit.”

“I don’t understand what was wrong with my old suit.” Castiel tapped the pencil on the notepad.

“Gotta look the part.” Dean shrugged.

“Dean!” Sam called, “Garth’s gone to Ohio. He said Kevin kicked him out of his own house, threatened to burn Mr. Fizzles if Garth used the puppet on him again.”

“You brief him?” Dean asked.

“Yes Dean,” Sam sighed, “Full low down complete with early suspects for coven members.”

Sam picked up the notepad that Castiel had been working on. “That’s real progress Cas.”

“Thank you, Sam.” Castiel gave a pleased smile, “It is a corrupted from of Enochian, as if the writer had only heard our language and was attempting to commit it to papyrus.”

“How would that work?” Sam pulled a chair close to look at the cuneiform markings.

“If the writer was one who could hear an angel’s true voice, perhaps.”

“Like a prophet?”

“Yes, or a nephilim, some vessels, a fallen angel with memory loss, or a powerful psychic.” Castiel pointed to the text. “I’m afraid when translated it does not amount to much. It is like part of an overheard revelation.”

“To the west Hadoriel’s garrison, fifty malakhim, two cherubs in training, to the weapons master for superior blades, on the third hidden…” Sam read. He looked to Castiel.

The former angel hummed, “It seems that something was stolen, and they were venturing to hell to get it returned, or it was a training exercise, or it was a secret mission authorized by the third sphere… all irrelevant.”

“Not irrelevant, when we get paid.” Sam grinned.

The papyrus had arrived by DHL the day before. It was the first actual artifact they were attempting to translate, but Sam had been doing a steady amount of online translation for other hunters and scholars. He had set up his own website and was taking freelance commissions. The fee was nominal for hunters, most often the promise of a beer if they ever met up, but Sam had researched going rates for dead and obscure language translations and realized this was a way he could contribute until he got his strength back. The bonus was that Castiel’s brain was like a translation matrix and he was helping Sam with the more challenging scripts. The contribution Castiel was making had lifted his spirits. Dean had repeatedly told him he was not useless, but when Sam had shown him the payment for an ancient Phoenician letter translation hitting the account, Castiel had glowed with satisfied pride.

Things had been better over the last couple of weeks. Dean had forgiven him for his weakness and how once more he had brought unintentional pain to his life. Castiel knew of the future that Dean had visited. Zachariah had boasted of it. That was all in the past now, or rather it was a deleted timeline. Castiel preferred to think that they were in one of the myriad of strands without an apocalyptic ending. 

It was a great relief not to be able to perceive space-time. He had always found it dizzying and the fluidity of chaos theory would set his celestial self spinning if he pondered it too long. Contemplating the vagaries of time and understanding their equations was a job for trained Seraphs, Principalities and Archangels. The one time he had tried to influence space-time with his freewill, he had released Leviathan. It was infinitely better to be ignorant of the shifts between futures and probabilities. 

They had gone to Salina to meet Inias for lunch and to buy Castiel his own set of FED suit, workman’s overalls and some lighter summer clothes. This time they had not seen Leslie, but had eaten buckwheat pancake wraps in the shelter kitchen. Castiel had found Dean’s efforts to eat the salad wraps quite adorable. Mickey D’s on the way back had Dean spouting about rabbits vs. food for men.

They had received an e-mail from Charlie asking what costumes they wanted her to reserve for their LOTR weekend. Dean had pranked Sam by replying that his brother wanted to go as an Ent. Sam found the e-mail in Sent Items and got his own back by requesting hobbit feet for Dean. When Dean found the reply asking for his shoe size he informed Charlie that Sam had changed his mind and now wanted to be King of the Nazgul. Sam saw him hitting send, and refused to speak to Dean for several hours. In the end Charlie got them all on a Skype conference and prompted by her threat of banishment to Mordor, Dean was getting kitted out as a Warrior of Gondor, Sam as a Rider of Rohan, and Castiel was going to be an elf from Lothlórien. If he was an elf and Dean was a man from Gondor, Castiel could indulge in a little soul-bound-eternal-love fantasy, in the privacy of his own mind, without any ‘click flick moment’ comments from Dean. He had accessed Charlie’s program of events for the weekend and one tent was going to be showing the movies on a loop. Castiel was sure he could get Dean in for his favorite scene. 

After lunch Dean had gone to the weaponry room to take apart and oil their arsenal. Castiel was giving the garbled Enochian a final read through. He suspected that the professor was going to be disappointed with the information. It was basically a list angel troop movements. His own garrison had been sent north, for whatever reason, there just wasn’t enough background data to know why. If their client had further sheets of the writing then Castiel might even have been able to hazard a guess about the mission in question. Sam explained that some academics don’t care if you end up translating a grocery list for them, it is the thrill of getting the information revealed that is upmost for the historians. Castiel hoped it was so in this case.

“Cas, babe?” Dean asked. He was standing in the doorway wiping his hands with an oily rag. 

“Hello Dean.”

“Paul called me back. He has a cabin booked at Cedar Bluff Park from Friday evening to Sunday. He has invited us, Sammy, you too if you want.”

“Count me out. I’ve had enough of stinky cabins.” Sam mumbled from behind his laptop.

“I don’t know Dean. What if I make a fool of myself again?” Castiel bit down on the inside of his cheek and gave his demin shirt a tug, “I seem to have a talent for putting my foot in it.”

“I will not have you turning recluse on me to avoid saying the wrong thing.” Dean dropped the rag on the table and leaned against the back of a chair. “Come on, man. Paul says his invite is by way of apology for Leslie’s behavior. He wants to see if we can all meet up without there being major drama.”

“What are we expected to do?”

Dean chuffed a laugh, “Have a freaking good time, that’s what. Paul’s picking Leslie up straight after he finished work in Salina, and they’ll be at Cedar Bluff by 8. We meet up, have a meal. Next day, fishing? Hiking? Swimming?”

“There is water?”

“Yeah it’s a big reservoir with campsites and cabins.”

“I would like to go with you.” Castiel thought a couple days away from the bunker might do Dean some good.

Friday saw Dean cooking a monster lasagna to bring with them. It travelled in the back seat of the Impala wrapped in layers of aluminum foil.

They arrived at the pretty log cabin only minutes after Paul and Leslie, who were getting their bags out of Paul’s truck. There was a good bit of back slapping when they greeted each other. Leslie began to apologize but Dean wouldn’t hear it. He threw an arm around the smaller man’s shoulder and made him give the guided tour of the cabin. There was an upstairs queen for Paul and Leslie and one down stairs off the open plan living space for Dean and Castiel. 

Paul caught Castiel alone as he was unwrapping the lasagna and trying to figure out how this new brand of oven worked.

“Castiel, I don’t know if you normally enjoy a joint, but we would appreciate it if you didn’t around Leslie.”

“That was my first experience.” Castiel could see the strain on Paul’s face, “and my last. Dean…” Castiel took a deep inhalation, “Dean… I hurt him. In the past. I won’t do it again.”

Then he got a lesson in personal space invasion as Paul’s stood toe to toe with him. His eyes were level at the crew neck of Paul’s grey t-shirt. “You hurt Dean. You deal with me. You understand.”

Castiel swallowed and nodded. “I understand and I agree.” 

He didn’t mention that he would have to find the pieces of Castiel that Sam would have chopped up, in order to follow through on that threat.

Dean’s lasagna was a hit. There was no TV in the cabin, much to Castiel’s horror, but Leslie had his work laptop and they downloaded Avengers Assemble. Castiel thought it was ridiculous and spent much of the movie counting Dean’s freckles. 

Later they curled up in the surprisingly comfortable wooden framed bed. It turned out Leslie was quite vocal during sex, and Dean muttered about ear plugs and speaking to Paul about shutting their door. 

Next morning Leslie made croissants from a can and Paul brewed a rich dark coffee. Over breakfast on the wraparound Paul asked if they wanted to join them on a hike.

“Budgie, I think we should stay here and sunbathe.” Leslie said with a coy smile as he rubbed sun lotion with insect repellant onto his arms and where his chest showed above the low cut blue stripe tank top.

“No. The air will clear your lungs. Come on lazy bones.” Paul laughed and disappeared inside for their back packs and water bottles.

Dean cleared up after breakfast and then joined Castiel on the south facing side of the cabin. He stripped off his outer shirts, leaving just the blue plaid button down. 

“You want to do anything, Cas?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“There are fishing rods inside?”

“I would like to go to the water but not to fish.” Castiel raised his hand to visor his eyes and looked at the sparkling blue lake only yards from their position. He could later use the excuse that his own hand was blocking his field of vision, so he didn’t see Dean approaching with a mischievous grin on his face. Castiel found himself lifted bodily over Dean’s shoulder while the taller man ran for the lake. Castiel playfully beat his fists into Dean’s back asking to be put down.

“You want water? You want to be put down?” Dean teased and threw Castiel into the lake. 

Castiel rose spluttering. He caught a great volume of chilled lake water in his moving hands and splashed Dean’s shirt and jeans. “What was that for?”

“I thought you were taking up residence in that rocking chair.” Dean began shrugging off his wet shirt and jeans. He kicked off his shoes and socks and clad only in his boxer briefs joined Castiel in the water. Castiel made to look annoyed and waded to the edge but he was only going there to peel off his own khakis and Henley. When he turned around Dean was swimming like a fish back and forth in lengths. It was like army training and Castiel got a little peeved at the way Dean’s upbringing seemed to interfere in moments that should be playful pleasure. He dived under the surface. Having to worry about breathing consistently meant he almost needed to break for air when he reached Dean’s legs and pulled down. Castiel felt quite the victor when Dean surfaced doing his own spluttering. 

“That’s it man. This is on!” Dean crowed and chased Castiel in a mixture of swimming and wading, finally catching the ex-angel when he tired close to shore. Castiel found himself subject to a methodically search for his ticklish spots. Back of the knee ended up being the winner, but unfortunately also made Castiel’s leg shoot up of his own volition and Dean got a shiner on his jaw. After that and the kisses to make up for it, they were both wrecked, chilled and ready to collapse. Castiel carried their clothes and Dean his shoes and Castiel’s boots. They found the Ho Hos they had brought and Dean brewed up another pot of Paul’s coffee.

“I’m cold Dean.” Castiel’s teeth were chattering where he was wrapped in a bath sheet. They had taken quick showers on their return.

Dean passed him his coffee and treat. “I could warm you up.”

“Will you warm me with your skin?”

“Huh-uh.” Dean sucked the end of his chocolate roll. Castiel’s eyes followed Dean’s mouth as he gave the Ho Ho a very provocative lick.

“Dean.” Castiel pleaded.

“You want this. Some of this.” Dean slowly inserted the rest of the cake in his mouth, “mmm creamy.”

“I need.”

“You want me to take care of you? Warm you up Cas?”

“Yes Dean.”

Castiel let Dean lead him to their room. The white sheets were still in disarray from the morning. Dean pressed Castiel down onto the bed. He licked a stripe up his neck and along his jaw. Castiel pressed lightly on the darkening bruise on Dean’s jaw. It was a silent apology for hurting him. Dean pulled Castiel’s hand down and licked the inside of his parted lips. Castiel could taste the sweetness and the coffee as Dean’s tongue skimmed his teeth and pushed in. 

Pulling back Dean opened his towel and threw it on the ground, then unwrapped Castiel’s one leaving it lying under their bodies. Castiel was already hard, pre-come leaking as he looked at Dean’s chest muscles above him. He raised his hand to rub that chest, his thumb flicking against Dean’s sensitive nipples.

“No fair, leave my perky nipples be.” Dean smiled as he lowered Castiel’s hand. “This, now, about you, Cas.”

Somewhere stars were colliding. Dean’s mouth over Castiel’s cock sent shock waves along his spine. His mind whited out, the only thing he could feel was Dean’s hot mouth, the insistent pushing of Dean’s tongue, the sensation of being suck down deep, fuck deep. Castiel thrummed, and Dean hummed around him. Then Dean slid, oh so slowly, off him.

“You want me to ride you?” Dean asked “or you want me to do this?”

Dean’s spit wet finger pressed on Castiel’s rim. He arched up letting Dean apply pressure and the finger breached his body. Dean pushed in and out a few times, then curled around and pressed until he found Castiel’s prostate. The finger withdrew due to Castiel arching so much and he releasing his load. Then Dean was back with two lubed fingers and he was working a very pliant and sated Castiel open.

“Feels good Dean. More.”

Dean murmured something about versatility and turned Castiel on his side, sliding down the sheet next to him and adding a third finger. 

“Want you in me, Dean. Want to feel you inside me. Want to…”

Dean lifted Castiel’s leg helping him position himself. He leaned forward and muttered what a good fuck Castiel was going to be into the other man’s ear. Then Dean was taking him. He burned at the fullness, stretched beyond the prep, and his body gave to let Dean in. Castiel’s breath was short and rapid, his pulse the same. Dean was fully seated asking Cas if he was ok. He couldn’t respond, couldn’t form words. Water leaked from his eyes, but he wasn’t crying. He nodded vigorously and Dean began to move. It was better than he had imagined. Pounding into Dean was a form of paradise, but his slow thrust, gentle smooth that Dean had going was its own form of bliss. His hands ran up and down Castiel’s spine and back. Castiel tilted his hips and rocked into Dean’s motions. He called Dean’s name in a rhythmic dance. It seemed to last forever and yet not long enough. 

“Cas, I….” Dean started. He made three stronger jerking moves and was coming inside Castiel. “God Cas, sorry Not-God, that was…”

“You’re speechless.” Castiel’s wrecked voice led to a huffing sigh.

“Goddamn Cas. We are switching more often.” Dean carefully pulled out and used the ends of the towel to clean them up.

“Can we just lie here?”

“Guess so? You have an appointment?”

“No Dean.”

“Good then.” Dean stretched facing him and rubbed his nose against Castiel’s. “You gonna sleep.”

Castiel hoped the grunt he gave in response was affirmative. His fingers’ found Dean’s callused hand, and he wrapped them together. Dean squeezed back and raised their upper arms so that their joined hand lay between their chests. He kissed the back of Castiel’s fingers. “I love this hand.” Castiel heard as he drifted off.


	21. Mix'd Equally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from John Donne's beautiful poem of a lover and a beloved, The Good Morrow.
> 
> .

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The night air was heavy with the promise of a thunderstorm. The clearing high above the bunker seemed to crackle with static electricity.

Paul’s arms wrapped around Dean, who leaned back into the broad chest of the firefighter. 

“Your brother sure picked a great spot for the display.” Paul muttered into Dean’s ear. 

“Hey,” Dean protested twisting out of the embrace, “It was my master plan.” 

Paul left a hand on the back of Dean’s canvas jacket. “Sam told me that he picked the clearing and you were the one who let the Inflatable Lincoln escape.”

“It was an Uncle Sam, and I underestimated the wind factor.” Dean narrowed his eyes looking over to where Sam was flipping burgers on the portable BBQ grill. His brother was wrapped up warm in more layers than the others but he was full of energy. “This Independence Day celebration is going to knock the ball out of the park.”

“If we don’t get arrested.” Paul laughed lighting up his grey eyes in the bonfire glow, “I’m sure it is illegal somewhere to celebrate on the 3rd July.”

“Hey maybe some fuddy duddies would say it is unpatriotic to celebrate early but it’s the 4th in half the world by now.” Dean replied.

“Nearly good to go Dean.” Charlie called from her position kneeling by the fireworks. Who knew she was pyro-technician amongst her many skills? Charlie had taken control of the fireworks when she had arrived the day before. She ran a schematic through her computer and had enlisted a bemused Castiel to arrange them for takeoff. 

Dean took a moment to knock back a few swigs of his Budweiser. Heineken was banned for the occasion. Paul had turned up with bottle of Jack. 

Daria, who really did look like a young Winona Ryder, was explaining hair colors and styles to Debriel. The former angel was clearly fascinated and reached out to touch Daria’s pixie cut.

Castiel and Inias were attempting to distract Doggie from their beer cooler box, which was full of steaks, meat patties and something called quorn for Inias. Doggie took a shine to the end of Castiel’s jeans and Inias had to tease her off with a raw sausage.

Sam was plating up the burgers and dropping pickles and mustard randomly all over the plate. Dean rolled his eyes. Next thing Sam would be adulterating them with leaves. And Yup, there he went, some plastic bag of washed shredded herbs went all over the patties. He would wait for a steak. 

Leslie was tossing the salads. He had brought violently pink plastic salad bowls and tongs for the job. He paused from that job to continue making swans out of the cheap shiny napkins. He noticed Dean and Paul looking his way and made a more birdie-like one. Lifting it up he winked at Paul.

“I think that is my cue,” Paul chuffed and moved over to help his partner.

Dean dropped down onto a log by the fire and stretched his legs out. His evening was turning out to be one awesome party. 

“You are lucky I am a shit hot tracker!” Garth appeared in the clearing, arms full of candy, with Kevin trailing after him.

Sam pulled Kevin into a hug, the prophet’s arms flailing.

“Don’t suffocate him Sam. He is very useful.” Castiel poked Sam in the arm.

“Kevin Tran,” Debriel said in awe.

“Um, yeah, that’s me. Just Kevin though, ‘Kay.” He said awkwardly, “I guess you are an ex-…” 

Dean shook his head violently.

Kevin saw and copped it, “… ex-colleague of Castiel. Hi, Inias. Good to see you are not black goo.”

“Thank you. It is nice to see you again. Have you been well?”

Dean cringed. These shelter conversation lessons were a crap idea. He thought the angels should find their own style.

“Well? Not particularly, what with my life being ruined and all that,” Kevin got control of his temper again, “but I’m good, thank you. Garth’s new pad is a vast improvement on the boat.”

“Kevin, man,” Dean stepped up, “Garth, dude. Welcome. Let me introduce you to Charlie, Daria, Leslie and Paul. You’ve met Debbie and Inias.”

Garth hugged everyone, declared they had been Garthed, and ate half of Sam’s burgers, all without pausing for breath or removing his new blue, white and red cap. 

Kevin ended up helping Sam with the rest of the grill.

Dean found Castiel and rescued him from Debriel’s questions about how to initiate sexual intimacy by telling her, “Just catch Inias and kiss him.”

“Is that what I should have done with you Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Trust me, Cas, you’d have ended up with a fist in your cakehole.” Dean informed him, “until maybe Purgatory.”

“I wanted to do it for a long time.”

“Did you?”

“Yes Dean, but I didn’t know how.”

“Glad we have now?”

“Infinitely.” Castiel curled his arm around Dean’s waist.

“Hey Handmaiden, less PDA more USA, fireworks time!” Charlie shouted before letting off the first set of jet like fireworks.

Dean ignored her and kissed Castiel’s forehead. He linked his fingers into Castiel’s as they gazed skyward. Feeling eyes on him Dean looked left to see Sam raising his beer with a fond expression on his face. Their own special private fireworks display that 4th of July many years ago ran through both their minds. Sam might have sniffled as if he had a cold, and Dean might have wiped his damp eyes, but who needed to know.

All too soon the shit load of fireworks were spent and everyone gave a bowing Charlie a round of applause.

Sitting around the dying bonfire with the last of the food, Charlie explained their upcoming LARPing weekend to the others. She declared herself Galadriel and Daria her handmaiden. Dean protested saying Daria was a usurper. Charlie pointed out that he was a Warrior of Gondor which placated his fake snit.

Castiel asked about elf-Gondor love matches, leading to a detailed history of Middle Earth pairings from the two women. 

Paul planted himself down on the log, on the opposite side to Dean. “You sure have a varied collection of friends, and you live in a pimped up nuclear bunker/tornado shelter.”

“Hey, never claimed to be Mr. Normal.” Dean shrugged.

“Normal is boring,” Leslie said coming up behind them and swinging his legs around to sit on a surprised Paul’s lap.

Dean moved over to sit on Castiel’s log and leaned his head on his shoulder. Castiel turned his body and reached a hand up to steady Dean’s jaw then moved forward to take his lips in a soft pleasant beer flavored kiss. 

Dean was happy to stay there. Castiel’s body heat and the embers of the fire warming him. 

Sam was leaning back against a tree, beer in his hand, looking good. Dean saw Paul embracing Leslie. Daria was under Charlie’s arm. He raised his eyes at Inias and Debbie’s awkward attempt at a kiss.

There were still thousands of lost fallen angels. Dean suspected that Abaddon and Crowley weren’t out of the picture and was fairly sure they hadn’t heard the last of Metatron, not to mention everyday fugly ghosts, wenidgos and vampires. But, a very big but, he was there in his home with his little brother and friends and his angel. Life was pretty peachy.

There was a deep rolling rumble of thunder.

“Kansas storm!” Paul shouted and began marshalling everyone to gather all their stuff.

Huge raindrops were coming through the trees as they ran for the bunker.

“Come on Dorothy. Click those heels.” Dean called at Castiel who was just behind him with the beer cooler.

Dean glanced back to check that Castiel was keeping up. The former angel was doing his adorable head tilt. Dean guessed he would have to add the Wizard of Oz to the list of to be watched movies.

The hood of the Impala, Paul’s truck and Charlie’s yellow monstrosity were below them. Sam was already at the bunker door. 

Dean twisted round and grinned maniacally, “There’s no place like home, Cas.”

“I agree Dean, and home is with you.”

“Shuddup,” Dean laughed and pulled Castiel with his free hand. 

If they were kissing as they entered, then that was fine. If they dumped the cooler box and army blankets inside the front door, then there were plenty of people to find them, and if they disappeared into their room until well after the storm had passed, then what could people expect from an angel finding his feet in the world and a hunter who had found his angel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much to everyone who has read this story.
> 
> I am very grateful for all your comments and kudos. 
> 
> Thanks for being along for the ride!


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